


Lies Agreed Upon

by Cavatica



Series: Breaking and Entering [9]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Politics, Alien Sex, Andalites, Canon-Typical Violence, Espionage, Established Relationship, Gen, Hollywood Marco, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Relationship Issues, Secret Relationship, Sex, Space Opera, Trans Character, autistic characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-09-19 21:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 175,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavatica/pseuds/Cavatica
Summary: Takes place during and after#54 The Beginning.The crew ofthe Rachelrescue Ax from The One. Marco  navigates Ax's culture, family, and the new dynamics of their relationship while embroiling himself in an Andalite government conspiracy that could threaten it all.





	1. Chapter 1

_July 2003  
3970.4.82_

“And that’s a wrap! Good job everyone!”

Marco pushed down the instinct to jerk away as his costar grabbed his wrist and pulled him into a hug. His thirteen-year-old self berated him for not appreciating that he was living the dream. How could he be coiling up with automatic stress response at being held by this gorgeous blonde, who was even a whole inch shorter than him? They were both the next big thing, and one picture of them hugging would sell a million tabloids. So why did he still have to react this way, almost three years after everything was over? 

Suddenly more bodies wrapped around them, patting Marco’s shoulder, kissing the side of his head, totally pointless tears wiped onto his $600 Givenchy tee. _Actors._ Every wrap was the end of summer camp. It’s not like they wouldn’t see each other after the three month break -- their show was top in its time slot. They’d be renewed until they said they were done.

His heart pounding in his ears, Marco slipped out from under the clasping arms of every extra on set, all groping for a touch of _actual_ fame. A production assistant was passing, and Marco waved him down to grab a bottle of Evian. Drinking half the bottle in two gulps, he reminded himself that he hadn’t really liked hugs _before_ the war. 

After Visser One faked his mom’s death, he’d associated hugs with her funeral -- being pulled numbly into the chests of every family member he didn’t even know he had, tearful whispers he wouldn’t have understood even if they were in English, because words had no meaning in a world where she was dead. Jake gave him the most awkward hug he’d ever had in his life because _his mom was dead_ and he still hated himself for wishing Jake would hug him under different circumstances.

Marco’s stomach twisted miserably. Jake only lived half a mile from his Santa Barbara beach house, and he’d still canceled on almost every plan Marco had tried to make with him. Marco only caught glimpses of him surreptitiously, when he was in town and worried enough to spy through his windows as an osprey. What kind of cretin lived in a place for a year and still didn’t have curtains? A cretin who didn’t know or care what was going on outside because he was so crushed by what was going on inside. Marco’s “at least that’s not me” instinct kicked in, and he felt another wave of self-loathing. He’d done everything he could to save Jake from himself. Marco had a wide variety of skills but helping to rehabilitate his former best friend didn’t seem to be one.

“Hey, Marco.” Kristen, his beautiful and petite costar sidled up next to him, touching her shoulder to his. Touchy-feely actors. “Are you coming to the wrap party tomorrow? Jared wants the main cast to come out tonight, and his driver’s gonna be on call.”

Marco flipped his phone open, dismissing 26 texts from Mertil about how the movie deal he was currently negotiating was based on a book that was pure nationalistic propaganda. He pulled up his calendar, even though he already knew what was there -- he’d been anticipating it with increasing restlessness for three days. At this point, he was practically vibrating out of his skin.

The corner of Marco’s mouth quirked up at his calendar note -- Long-Distance Call -- and said, “Sorry, I have plans tonight.”

Kristen was a scholar of human nature; it made her a good actor, but sometimes Marco thought that she’d make a great interrogator, too. She zeroed in on the slight change in Marco’s expression. Kristen elbowed him in the arm and raised her eyebrows. “Plans? Plans with a giiiirl? Or y’know. _Not_ a girl?”

Marco fake coughed a bit. “God, Ryan has a big mouth.”

“You’d know,” Kristen snorted.

“Oookay, yep, not sharing my plans with any of my coworkers. Personal life? What are you talking about? Bye, Kristen. I’m going home to knit a sweater for my cat.”

“Is it an Animorphs thing?” Kristen whispered.

A chill traveled up Marco’s spine. “What?” 

“You get nervous and babbly when people ask you about that stuff when you’re not expecting it,” she pointed out.

“Seriously,” Marco said, deflecting and handing his empty water bottle to another passing PA. He started walking backward and waved. “Bye, Kristen. Thanks for the invite. Tell everyone I’m sad I couldn’t be there. I’ll probably be at the wrap party, but if not, I’ll see you guys when filming starts up again.”

She looked disappointed as he turned and walked out to the parking lot. If it was old times, he’d probably have said something stupid like “she wants me.” The truth was, Kristen had made a sincere effort to get to know Marco and he was having none of it. It just so happened sincerity was one of the first things that would land a person on Marco’s “push them away” list. He’d messed around with Ryan precisely because he was just another empty hot guy who had to use all his brain power to even kind of learn his lines. Empty was fine, empty was what Marco wanted, not just in other people, but also himself.

Sincere people were the problem. Sincere people could hurt you.

Marco opened his messages on the way to his car, running his hand through his hair out of nervous habit. He’d received a text a few hours ago, while he was still on-set.

_Are we still on for tonight?_

Marco unlocked his black Mercedes and sat in the driver’s seat with the door open and his leg dangling out. His elbows on the steering wheel, he flipped out his keyboard to type out a reply.

_wouldn’t miss it for anything_

Too eager. Backspace.

_of course we are  
i miss you_

Too honest. Backspace.

_where have you been for the last month_

Too confrontational and a breach of security. Backspace.

_yeah_

Perfect. Send.

Marco shut the car door and pulled out of the studio parking lot. He fiddled with his radio and air conditioning, bouncing his left leg while he idled in traffic. Edging forward, he took his phone out again, chewing at the skin on his lip. Ax hadn’t texted back, but there wasn’t much to respond to. 

He scrolled up past the month of radio silence that was just him texting Ax question marks every few days, finally punctuated with Ax’s _“I’m sorry. I believe we can resume the normal schedule now, if that works for you,”_ which Marco had received three days ago.

Above that, Ax had apologized for not being there for his birthday. -- _dont worry about it, 19 is nbd really -- I still regret that I can’t be there._ Above that, Ax begged him not to watch the season finale of _Buffy_ without him (there was no way, everyone he knew invited him to a viewing party -- Marco was still going to watch it with Ax; he was absolutely going to hate Tara’s death). Above that, Ax reacted to Marco’s show’s midseason finale, in which Marco’s character had been pushed off a building in a possible death cliffhanger.

_That was very realistic._

_yeah i know, it’d been awhile since i did a midair morph_

_They really pushed you off the ledge?_

_you know the whole staff was dying for the opportunity_

_Are you okay?_

_of course i’m ok, how many times have we done that_

_Too many. Who are you trying to impress?_

_do you have someone in mind? ;p_

Someone behind him laid on their horn, and Marco looked up. Oh, goody, he could advance a whole car length.

It took almost an hour to get to Marco’s Silver Lake apartment -- why did he let his mom talk him into that place instead of somewhere in Burbank? Yeah, it was hip and artsy and more affordable, but was that worth the cost of convenience? She didn’t have to act like his financial adviser -- he actually had one of those on his payroll. Didn’t Eva _like_ having the huge Santa Barbara beach house to herself ninety percent of the time? 

Marco unlocked his gate and let himself into the spacious townhouse. Light was flooding into the foyer from the skylight in the kitchen -- very choice feature, one of the reasons he’d settled on this one. He set his keys down next to one of the plants on the kitchen island. The housekeeper had been in earlier and had left a note and a zip-lock bag of cookies on the marble counter. 

_Congrats on another season finale! Thank you for the flowers! I’ll be in to water your plants while you’re out of town. Have a fantastic break and say hello to your lovely mother for me!_  
_\-- Linda  
P.S. don’t forget sunblock! _

Marco smiled, rolled his eyes, and put the bag of cookies next to the bottle of mustard -- the only other thing in his fridge besides twenty bottles of water. How he managed to collect a mom in every town was beyond him, but all his housekeepers were like this. 

He’d asked Eva if she was jealous that he’d had the home cooking of three other women in the last year. She’d laughed and said, “I spent nineteen years -- give or take a few -- cleaning up after you. They can have you.” But the next time he went back to Santa Barbara, she surprised him with his favorite meal. Moms.

Marco toed his shoes off at the door to his bedroom, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and let his jeans fall to the floor. He plopped down into his soft leather executive desk chair and spun around once as he engaged his Andalite communications terminal with a thought command. The holographic interface shimmered to life, and Marco leaned forward to examine his alerts. He hadn’t missed Ax’s call yet and no one else had his line except Mertil, who preferred to annoy him via text message. Marco leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk.

He flipped his phone open again and restlessly fiddled with it. He was aware of the irony of playing with a primitive human mobile device while sitting in front of a computer so powerful he could hack the CIA with a thought. Been there, done that. His Andalite computer didn’t have _Bejeweled_. 

He checked his email, replied to a few “congrats” texts, and played _Bejeweled_ until he beat his high score. Two hours. If Andalite tech deals hadn’t advanced battery technology by fifty years, Marco would have needed to plug in his phone. As it was, he kept opening his clock app and calculating how late Ax was down to the second.

Marco hadn’t turned on his bedroom light and only the faintest sunlight still shone through his curtains. The blue holographic interface cast a faint glow on Marco’s bedroom. He lay his head down on his desk, facing the station. He didn’t want to accept the disappointment. He didn’t want to accept he’d been stood up, again. He stared at the alert panel, willing the link to come through to the point that the eye strain was giving him a headache.

After another forty minutes, Marco fell asleep with his cheek on the desk.

* * *

_December 2003  
3970.4.136_

Marco had been running on cold nerves and adrenaline since Jake interrupted his one-lobster pool party. Jake was straight to business, back to handing out orders. Both Jake and Tobias, true to their emotionally-damaged “the-things-we-did-can-never-be-forgiven” forms, had been mostly silent about Ax. Which, in a way, was good because Marco hadn’t exactly kept anyone up to speed on his love life. Sure, Jake had a clue, since Marco had inflicted a few manic episodes on him that just so happened to coincide with Ax shipping out again. But he’d kept it under control for a while now.

Mostly because since Ax had been assigned the _Intrepid_ , Marco could count the number of times he’d been back on one hand and the last time hadn’t been pretty. 

But still, under control. Marco was in control. Jake told him what happened, and Marco had been his usual flippant self all the way there. And it’s not like Jake was Mr. Feelings, anyway. He knew Marco would come on his second chance redemption-or-death mission, _Death Wish 2: In Space_. Jake was only focused on what this meant to him. Yeah, he was dragging Marco and Tobias along. Yeah, he was using them for what Ax had been to them. But beyond that simple calculation, he wasn’t worried about what it meant to have the gang back together. Minus a few, plus a few.

Marco had only really started to come apart when they met up with Menderash. Like, yes, Menderash’s human morph was almost as hot as his Andalite form -- dude was aware of his strengths. But how desperate does a situation have to be for an _Andalite_ to choose to get permanently trapped as a human? How many times had Ax acted like walking on two legs was like walking a tightrope? How many times had Mertil acted like the inside of a mouth was a complete horrorshow? How many times had literally every Andalite they had ever met acted like every other race was dirt under their hooves?

“Stop staring at me,” Menderash hissed. 

Menderash was piloting their new ride, but he kept glancing around like he thought he was going to get caught shoplifting. 

_Better get used to having two eyes_ , Marco thought.

“Sorry,” he said instead.

Even with the horrifying implications of Menderash’s unfathomable decision, Marco kept it together while they had a mission to “steal” the ship. His old coping mechanisms kicked in like clockwork. The louder and more annoying you are, the less likely people are to wonder what’s going on inside. 

When the _Rachel_ hopped into Z-space, though, the empty white void pressed in. There was nothing to do but wait. No way to know if Ax was okay. No way to know if they were going the right way. And at least three out of their crew of six were not going to win “best conversationalist in the galaxy” awards. 

It was going to be a long trip.

Marco paced the bridge, checking out the weapons stations and computers, touching everything he thought was probably safe to touch. Jeanne Gerard was at the sensor station with an elegant leather notebook in her hands, seriously taking notes in handwriting too small for Marco to read without getting way up in her space. What she was taking note of, Marco had no idea, since the controls weren’t in any Earth language. He moved on from her; he couldn’t deal with overachievers.

Marco peered at the helm controls over Menderash’s shoulder. Menderash mostly wasn’t interacting with the manual controls, and Marco watched as the piloting interface refreshed in response to Menderash’s thought commands. Marco couldn’t read the display, but at least trying to puzzle it out was some kind of distraction.

Menderash threw another glare over his shoulder. “Captain,” he said in a curt tone, “Please control Marco.”

“If only I’d ever figured out how to do that,” Jake mused flatly. 

Marco threw himself down into one of the unoccupied stations on the bridge, practically vibrating out of his skin. Every nervous tic he had that he could usually control in front of the camera was hitting him. He thought about the bottle of valium he’d brought and how he didn’t know how long it would have to last. Speaking of valium and perpetually needing one, he finally took a minute to study Jake.

Jake’s eyes still looked mostly empty; his expression was still distant and closed off, but he also seemed somehow at ease. Was this really all he needed? _Just_ the threat of death looming over him, other people’s lives in his hands, the fate of his former comrade on his shoulders? Jake had a real appreciation for the simple things. The life he’d pretty much been failing to live had just been a placeholder until he could be the child general again. Joke was on Jake -- none of them were children anymore, and he wasn’t the prodigy hero the spin had made him out to be. Marco knew, because he created that spin. 

Marco had tried everything he knew -- he’d introduced Jake to Kobe, he’d introduced him to Adriana, he’d delivered him a Maserati (which he had rudely sent back). There was only so long Marco could throw himself at a problem before he started to resent the problem, and he’d gotten there with Jake a while ago. Nothing Marco did mattered. The old Jake wasn’t in there. Jake had been lost long before he made the call for Rachel to take out Tom. 

Marco studied Jake’s face, and all he saw was the spent, world-weary general. That was him. The old Jake was as dead as the old Marco, and Jake wasn’t as good at acting. If this was the medicine Jake needed, Marco hoped it worked for him. 

“Hey,” Sergeant Santorelli said, behind Marco. Marco turned to look at him over his shoulder -- noted he had his hand on the back of the chair, but knew better than to touch anyone on this mission without warning. “You wanna join me, inventory what we’ve got here?”

Marco practically jumped up. “Permission to leave the bridge, Captain,” he said to Jake.

“Please, Marco, go do something,” Jake begged.

Marco followed Santorelli out into the claustrophobic hall that led off to other parts of the ship. He thought about how much Ax would hate it, if they ever found him, how much Menderash must already hate it. Menderash had already been a remarkably hateful Andalite -- ‹That’s how you can tell he likes you,› Ax had said.

_Ugh. Keep it under control._

Marco looked up at Santorelli -- he was taller than Jake. He definitely cut a way better figure than Jake. His grey t-shirt was tight around his deltoids, and Marco could tell there were abs under the loose fabric. Abs for days. His skin was a shade lighter than Marco’s and he had dark, deep-set eyes, the kind you could get lost in. You could also get lost in his eyebrows, but that was a different thing altogether. 

Santorelli had a datapad in his hand, like a cross between the Andalites’ totally holographic interfaces and a Star Trek PADD. Marco thought he probably had a list of supplies on it, but when he looked over Santorelli’s shoulder, he was actually flicking at some kind of turn-based strategy game. Marco snorted.

“Is that _Civ 3_?” Marco asked. 

Santorelli glanced down at Marco with a reserved smile. “Yeah, do you play?” 

“I haven’t since _Civ 2_. Uh, kinda lost a taste for the whole genre for a while, if you get me,” Marco said.

“Sure, I get you,” Santorelli said. His voice was gentle and throaty and a little overly sincere. Sincere people. They’ll get you every time. “Still,” he continued. “This one’s got multiplayer. We’re probably gonna get bored, and it might be interesting to see how many different ways you can dominate me.”

Marco pressed his lips together. “Yep. That’d be interesting. Super tempting.”

This was going to be _such_ a long trip.

Santorelli stopped at a sliding panel and drew a Z pattern into a lit screen on the wall. The door slid open silently. Much more elegant than Star Trek. They entered the supply stores and were immediately hit with the smell of cinnamon sugar. Marco’s chest tightened.

“Oh _good_ ,” Marco sneered, lifting each of the six boxes of cinnamon buns to make sure none of them were surprise sandwiches. He set them aside, so they could tabulate the rest of the stock, but not before Santorelli grabbed one. Marco got started counting. He’d count everything on the ship to keep his mind busy. He wished he had something to keep his nose busy, since the smell of cinnamon buns was surprisingly upsetting. Ax wasn’t there, but he was somehow everywhere.

“Want one?” Santorelli said, muffled.

“Not even a little. Forty-two bottles of multivitamins,” Marco tallied and Santorelli noted it down on his datapad.

“They’re probably only going to be good for a couple days.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll get desperate,” Marco said. “Twenty-eight bags of ‘bird of prey nutritional supplement.’ Oh my god, we have hawk treats; Tobias is going to hate this.”

“He’s quiet, huh? Barely said anything since we requisitioned the ship,” Santorelli observed. “You mind if I have another?”

“Go to town,” Marco said. “Don’t expect much from Tobias. Or Jake, for that matter. Uh, looks like seventy bags of dehydrated chicken.”

“Professor Berenson’s a better teacher than pretty much anyone in the army,” Santorelli said, popping each of his fingers into his mouth then brushing his hands off on his jeans. Everyone on the trip except Menderash was wearing jeans tight enough to morph in, and Marco was thankful for the small things. His eyes lingered a bit. And the not small things. He willed his eyes back to counting.

“Well, that says more about the army and less about _‘Professor’ Berenson_ , oh my god. At least I got my GED eventually.” Marco stretched up on his tiptoes but couldn’t reach the top two shelves.

“Congrats on that,” Santorelli said sincerely. He handed Marco the slightly sticky datapad. “I got the tall shelves. So I take it the war stories are a bit exaggerated?” 

Marco started wiping the edges of the pad off on his shirt. “What? Uh, probably not. Probably the other way around.”

“Forty-two bags of freeze dried peas. These numbers are kinda awkward.” Marco took that down. “And no, I mean the whole ‘band of brothers’ defeating the Yeerks with friendship thing. I know you guys did the unimaginable. It’s obvious from looking at Prof -- at Jake.”

“Andalites use base fourteen,” Marco explained simply, doing a jazz hand for emphasis. “And yeah, we uh. We all used to be close. More or less. It held us together until there wasn’t much to hold anymore.”

“Oh no, freeze dried scrambled eggs,” Santorelli groaned in disgust. “Jeez, a hundred twenty-eight pouches of them. I need another cinnamon bun.”

“Are you an actual Andalite in disguise?” Marco asked.

Santorelli grinned. “Guess you’ll have to watch and make sure I don’t disappear every two hours.”

“I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on you,” Marco muttered, pursing his lips and stealthily peeking at the way Santorelli’s abs curved into his hip muscles as his shirt lifted when he stretched to reach the top shelf.

“Eighty-four canisters of dried, cubed yogurt,” Santorelli said miserably, as if he hadn’t heard Marco. “Why isn’t Secretary Mason on this trip? Because they dated?”

“Nah, I think they’re more or less cool now. Jake just knew she had important things. Cassie has a life,” Marco said. Santorelli was a slower counter, mostly because he had to examine everything that seemed horrible, so Marco had moved to another shelf and was silently tallying the stock there as well.

“And you didn’t? Ninety-eight bags of broccoli. You’re on TV at least three times a week, not counting commercials. You’re the face of Under Armour, Monster, and the ASPCA. You have the record number of MySpace friends after Tom.”

“Oh wow, _so important_.” Marco flipped his hair over his shoulder theatrically, then he sighed. “I’m here because I have to be. This is my fault.”


	2. Chapter 2

_July 2003  
3970.4.82_

A pulsing light, bright enough to shine through Marco’s eyelids, caused him to stir. His ears were ringing slightly in time with the pulse, and he had a piercing headache in his right eye. He forced his eyes shut tighter before he realized his face was in a puddle of his own drool and the light was his Andalite communications array. He shot up in his seat, almost falling backward. He engaged the interface, answering the call as he wiped his face off hastily with the back of his arm and clawed through his hair.

Ax’s face blinked into view. He looked guilty. Good.

“It’s three a.m.,” Marco growled, rubbing the intense crick in his neck and pressing his palm into his right temple. The bright hologram intensified the spear of pain in his eye socket; why couldn’t Andalites just use phones like normal people?

‹I know,› Ax said, sounding apologetic, but not saying he was sorry. ‹Menderash says a Z-space distortion interrupted my signal. I have been trying repeatedly to make contact.›

“I sat here for six hours. You said _normal schedule_. You’ve stood me up the last five times.” Marco was too angry to say _and you could have been dead_. Ax didn’t deserve to know how worried he’d been.

‹I know. My mission has been complicated. I will tell you about it when I arrive.›

“Yeah? So in another two months, maybe? And you’ll expect me to drop everything, like always?”

Ax looked away. ‹I am sorry you are upset.›

The hair on Marco’s arms and neck bristled. “You know, that’s not a real apology,” Marco said, his voice rising. “Like, I’m sorry _you_ treat me like I’m not important. Is that a good apology? I’m sorry _you_ won’t ever tell me what’s going on. I’m sorry _you_ think I’m just a stupid human you can jerk around.”

‹I will arrive on Earth tomorrow. Do you want to see me, or not?› Ax said, tired and impatient.

“ _Tomorrow_?” Marco screeched. 

‹Yes. It is unexpected, but the shift in Z-space has also closed the distance to your system, and we were already en route. I will be arriving at approximately six p.m., your time.›

“What kind of notice is that? I have _plans_ , Ax. You probably don’t remember, but we finished filming this season today and the wrap party is tomorrow night,” Marco said. 

‹A party?› Ax said dismissively. ‹I haven’t seen you in three of your months.›

Marco refused to play along with him. “Yeah, and in those three months, I’ve been working hard with people I actually get to see everyday who value my contributions, and I deserve to celebrate our work together.”

‹You aren’t even friends with them.› Ax pouted.

“What do you know about anything, Ax? You’ve never met them.” An idea struck Marco, piercing the haze of anger. “Come with me.”

‹What?›

“Come to my party, as my date. Be a part of my life. I want you there.” Marco was practically begging.

‹You know that we can’t,› Ax said.

“You don’t have to come in your usual human morph. You can be anyone you want. You can be a different Andalite. You can be a Hork-Bajir, I don’t care, just actually come outside with me for something besides dinner where we pretend to be catching up as friends.” His face and throat were burning, and Marco realized he was about to angry cry. He looked up, swallowed, and grit his teeth. Wasn’t gonna happen.

Ax looked away, not even a single stalk eye pointed at Marco. 

“Fine,” Marco spat. “Well, I’m _going_ to go to my party, and I guess you can just wait here for me. You know where the spare key is. Anything else?”

‹I have something I need to discuss with you,› Ax said, completely neutrally.

Marco’s stomach went cold. He wanted to tell Ax he couldn’t just say that, that panic was already washing over him. He said instead, “Okay. Tomorrow.”

‹Tomorrow.›

* * *

_January 2004  
3971.1.3_

“Are you even trying?” Menderash had zero concept of positive feedback. If someone gave Menderash the Flight Instructor a ruler, he would absolutely beat the crap out of Marco and would probably enjoy it.

Hell, maybe Marco would too, as boring as the _Rachel_ was. And as attractive as Menderash was.

His hair was wavier than Marco’s but shorter and fell over his eyes and face in a way that looked effortless because clearly Menderash wasn’t putting in any effort. But he had such strong bone structure that he didn’t have to. He had that typical gorgeous, androgynous, morphed-Andalite thing going on, which had always really worked for Marco. 

“I’d try harder if you’d say nice things to me,” Marco said in his sweetest voice.

Menderash narrowed his already sharp eyes. “It would be nice if you learned to fly this ship without getting us killed.”

Marco turned back to the console, his eyes tracking from one section of the screen to the next without really comprehending the whole. Menderash had reprogrammed most of it to be in English, but there were still some weird parts that threw up _Galard_ warnings, mostly when Marco was about to upend the ship. It seemed like Menderash would have realized those messages were important. 

Marco was currently unintentionally making the _Rachel_ descend, or maybe ascend -- who even knew if Z-space had an up. What was up, really, in any zero gravity environment? Why did humans have to impose rules in places that didn’t have to have them? Either way, he wasn’t supposed to be pointing this way and an alarm was sounding, so Marco was trying to correct it with thought commands. The modified Yeerk interface wasn’t as intuitive as using real Andalite technology and there was something about having to think about the act of _pulling up_ or _pushing back_ and the actual degrees you wanted to climb or turn. Marco didn’t have enough focus for any of it.

Menderash sighed heavily and reached around Marco, tapping at the console hologram and then actually pulling a small physical lever. The alarms stopped, and the ship evened back out.

“Have you always been this hopeless?” Menderash asked.

“Yes,” Jake said, reading a _Sports Illustrated_ at the sensor console with his feet propped up on a bucket of dehydrated rice.

“Thanks for the support,” Marco deadpanned to Jake, who returned a thumbs-up over the magazine. Marco studied Menderash’s long fingers and delicate bones as he reprogrammed the interface to log Marco off. “You know you have beautiful wrists?”

Menderash flashed Marco a dispassionate glare. 

Marco pointed his chin down and looked up at Menderash in a way he knew made his eyes particularly big and alluring. “Are all Andalites in human morph really pretty?”

Menderash was unmoved by Marco’s come-hither eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Like you don’t know you’re pretty,” Marco remarked.

Menderash pursed his lips. “No, not all Andalites have attractive human morphs. Not all Andalites pay attention to such things.”

Marco grinned. “Are you saying you pay attention to attractive humans?”

“No,” Menderash said coldly. “I am saying I am aware of what few advantages humans have among each other, although I do regret it in this moment. I am finished attempting to teach you, if you are finished harassing me.”

“Marco,” Jake warned. “Take a turn with someone else.”

Marco got up out of his seat and walked over to Jake, who looked up at him over the edge of his magazine. Marco moved slowly, making very sure he wasn’t going to surprise him, and Jake realized what was happening an instant before Marco settled into his lap and put an arm around his neck.

“Oh god, Marco, why?” Jake groaned, but behind his tired eyes, Marco thought he saw just a bit of _something_ , maybe.

“I just wondered if you had anyone in mind, Big Guy,” Marco said, tilting his head casually. “I mean, you owe me, after all those years of being your Number One, don’t you think? As far as wingmen go, you’re no Tobias, but I’m sure you could find someone for me, in all this wide galaxy.”

‹Don’t bring me into this, Marco,› Tobias warned. Marco had actually forgot he was there, perched up on some tubing in a shadowy place in the corner. He was lurking more like a bat than a hawk.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Tobias,” Marco assured him. “I think you actually would claw my eyes out.”

‹You could just morph it away.›

“You sound like --” and Marco stopped abruptly, because he’d been about to say “Rachel” and then Tobias really would have lost it. “-- you’ve gone feral,” he concluded.

Jake lifted a brow at Marco, but Tobias went back to his merciful silence. Marco ruffled Jake’s hair and pitched himself forward, out of Jake’s lap. He almost stumbled into Jeanne, on her way in from the mess hall. She dodged him, of course, then rapped him on the shoulder with her notebook for good measure.

“Looking for someone who will tolerate you?” Jeanne chirped as she took her seat next to Menderash for her turn at the pilot’s chair.

“Is it you, the woman of my dreams?” Marco asked. That was even more of a joke than flirting with Menderash, though -- Marco had backed way off after Jeanne had shoved him against a bulkhead and told him she knew how to operate the airlock. Marco could take a hint, even one that subtle.

“That _is_ the only place I would tolerate you,” Jeanne remarked with a coy finger to her lips. Marco mimed taking an arrow to the heart. Jake, back to reading his magazine, gave her a thumbs-up. Jake was feeling so leaderly and encouraging that day. Better than the days he couldn’t or wouldn’t leave his quarters.

“I’m gonna go try to ‘E.T. phone home,’” Marco said, excusing himself out into the hall. 

The walls were still oppressively narrow outside the bridge. Everything was a dark pewter color that made the interior of the ship look oddly dank, even though the humidity level was actually so low that Jeanne and Menderash had both gotten nosebleeds. Menderash had been the first, and that had been pretty funny. He was horrified that his human face was spontaneously bleeding and afterward he wouldn’t speak for hours, but it was still funny. Marco had already watched the collected works of Mel Brooks at least ten times each since coming aboard, so he took what humor he could get.

Marco dipped his head into the mess hall -- empty. He’d left dishes in there that morning, intending to take care of them later, and he saw them stacked neatly on the rack next to the sink. Probably Santorelli, with his mix of military discipline and being the only person on the ship who would actually do someone a favor without mentioning it.

Marco continued down the corridor. The last room before the hall split off into engineering and ops was Jake’s quarters, the biggest on the ship. Menderash had insisted, even though Jake said he didn’t want it. Across from Jake’s room was what Marco called the Family Computer. 

It was a semi-private room with an Andalite terminal instead of the awkward mix of Yeerk, Andalite, and rapidly-evolved human tech that was mostly employed throughout the ship. It was like the Andalites had put in this one station to remind them “yes, this one is the most desirable; yes, we are still supreme.” They mostly used it to play video games with the graphics on the highest settings and as a phone booth for Marco and Jake to call their families, so joke was on the Andalites.

Marco drew his access code onto the screen next to the door, but it flashed red and beeped gently, meaning someone was in there.

“Access granted,” Marco heard Santorelli’s voice say. The door slid open to let Marco in.

Marco was surprised to see the projection of a man’s face over Santorelli’s shoulder. As far as he knew, this was the first time Santorelli had called anyone. Jake had specifically picked him and Jeanne because they didn’t have anyone to lose or be lost to.

“Marco, this is my buddy from basic, Liu,” Santorelli introduced. “Liu, Marco.”

“Yes, _the_ Marco,” Marco, ever-humble, said.

“Awesome to meet you!” Liu said. “Man, when Santorelli got picked for the morphing program, we all thought it was gonna be some bullshit, but look at him now -- Snickerdoodle’s on a Top Secret mission with _the_ Marco.”

Marco mouthed _Snickerdoodle?_ and Santorelli rolled his eyes, but his face was slightly rosy.

“Hey, man, good seeing you, but Marco probably wants to use this computer. I’ll see you on the flipside if I make it home.” Santorelli put his hand up to say goodbye. Liu returned the gesture with a dead-serious salute, to which Santorelli responded with a half-smile before he disengaged the terminal. 

Santorelli swiveled his chair around toward Marco -- they were face-to-face since Santorelli was seated. Marco was used to that status quo, so embarrassment was the furthest thing from his mind. At least, his own embarrassment.

“Snickerdoodle?” Marco teased.

“Yeah, that was the nickname my staff sergeant gave me when I was a new recruit. I joined the army to pay for pastry school and got assigned cooking duties, but all I can do is bake. The sergeant said I lost my Italian privileges when I made the worst spaghetti and meatballs he’s ever had, so, Snickerdoodle. Could be worse.” Santorelli was flushed, avoiding eye contact. He looked like a kid getting caught in a lie, even though he was five years older than Marco. “Obviously, I decided the morphing unit was more interesting than perfecting my marjolaine.” 

“Do you still think that, since it’s looking like the only action we’re ever gonna see is on the same twenty DVDs I have in my bunk?”

“Giving up?” Santorelli’s thick, super expressive eyebrows rose toward his hairline.

“I’m a realist,” Marco said.

“Well,” Santorelli said, “I do still think living in space is at least as cool as baking.”

“ _Snickerdoodle_ ,” Marco repeated. “Do you even have a real name, _Sarge_?”

“Yeah, it’s Pete.”

“Oh.” Marco winced like his favorite player missed a free throw. “Welp. We’re never gonna be on a first name basis.”

“Why?” Santorelli asked, brows stitching together in confusion. 

“That's my dad's name. Peter, anyway.” Marco forced an awkward smile. 

“Oh.” 

Marco didn’t know much about Santorelli’s background -- just that he didn’t have any close family. He wasn’t surprised that Santorelli kind of clammed up when Marco mentioned his dad, that he didn’t know what to say or what nerve he might touch. Santorelli was surprisingly sensitive, which was good, because the ship was littered with emotional landmines.

“It’s not a big deal,” Marco assured. “My dad and I… I mean, we haven’t talked in awhile, but it’s fine. I can just think of better things to call you.” In case he was being too subtle, Marco added, “In better places.”

“I don’t even know if I’d answer to it, anyway. I’ve been in the Army since I was younger than you.” 

Santorelli gave a crooked smile and brushed his fingers through his hair. Marco followed the motion to avoid Santorelli’s tendency toward too much eye contact. Santorelli had been letting only the top grow out, and the contrast between that and the shaved back and sides looked so soft and appealing. Marco just wanted to run his hands through it. “Play with the hair" was actually one of Marco’s classic moves, and he was glad it was effective from the other side.

“Psssh, okay, like you’re so old, and like I wasn’t fighting an intergalactic war when you were apparently baking cookies.” Marco was too busy dramatically rolling his eyes to really appreciate that Santorelli had edged forward in his seat. 

Marco wasn’t exactly the most open to sneak attack kisses, but Santorelli’s lips brushed his like a whisper and it was definitely the softest kiss Marco had ever received. Goosebumps washed over him from his neck to his feet. Marco stared at Santorelli, lips parted, silent, for several seconds. Santorelli’s expression shifted from vulnerably exposed to fiendishly amused when he realized he’d caught Marco off guard, but not in an unwelcome way. 

Slowly and without saying anything, Santorelli stood and left, intentionally brushing their arms together on his way out. His skin was fire compared to Marco’s, whose body tended to go numb if it thought he might be having a feeling. The door slid shut, and Marco collapsed into the terminal chair, pressing his cold fingers into his tingling lips. Santorelli certainly knew how to leave a guy wanting more.

He sighed, deciding not to get hung up on the details. Apparently casting a wide net of aggressive flirtation could actually catch a big, sexy fish Marco really didn’t deserve. It didn’t matter. They were either going to get killed out in space or return to Earth after a year or so. It wouldn’t make a difference if he let whatever happened with Santorelli happen. Everything had an expiration date.

Marco turned the chair toward the terminal and brought the communications interface back up. He rubbed tension out of his neck as he watched the pulsing light of the pending call. He’d been lucky that his Santa Barbara house -- which was basically just his mom’s house, since he’d mostly lived in his L.A. apartment -- had already been set up with an Andalite communications terminal. For a while, Jake’s parents had had to come to Eva’s for their scheduled calls, and that had been awkward to organize. They’d managed to get their own setup eventually, though, and now they didn’t have to rely on Eva, who was really too busy to be their concierge. 

It was starting to look like she wasn’t home, though Marco double checked her local time, since it was pretty easy to lose track of real time in space. She’d already yelled at him for calling her before her morning coffee, so if he mistakenly called her at three a.m. or something, she’d straight up come after him. He considered it and realized she could probably manage that, with her connections.

He was about to leave when Eva’s holographic face finally filled the terminal. Her hair was styled and she had what looked like full studio makeup on. She looked tired, so he guessed she was back from some event, not on her way to one. But that wasn’t a given; looking tired when the cameras were off was a family trait.

“Hey, Mom,” Marco said.

“Good to see you’re still not dead.” Her standard greeting. “How’s space?”

“All the fucking same, as usual,” Marco said.

“That’s my son. Never stop questioning things you’re meant to be impressed by,” said Eva, smirking. “Still no sign of Ax?”

“Nah. Menderash actually doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’ve pretty much accepted this is a very un-Magical Mystery Tour with no destination.” Marco sighed again. Now that he was actually on the call with Eva, he realized he didn’t really have anything to talk about and it was kind of depressing. “You look nice,” he said lamely.

“Yeah, had a fundraising event and then a press conference,” Eva said. 

Between Cassie and his own mother being nonstop activists, Marco had started to feel very trivial before he’d left. Not that he felt like he needed to save the world _again_. But he was surrounded by people who did feel that way and by other people who kept telling him his prerogative to hollow himself out and fill the space with money was a waste. Now he was showing them, spending most of his time watching _Life of Brian_ or staring at the ceiling in his quarters, blaming himself. So productive.

“So, uh…” Marco looked down, rubbed his neck, looked back up. “Have you seen Dad?”

Eva’s face softened. Marco didn’t usually ask. “Yeah, _mijo_ , we had dinner a couple nights ago. He’s fine. You know he misses you.”

“Uh huh. That’s why he said he can’t speak to me unless it’s in a family therapy session,” Marco grumbled.

“That was definitely the wrong way to approach the situation,” Eva said. “I’m sure he regrets it now.”

“Yeah well. I don’t respond well to an ultimatum.”


	3. Chapter 3

_July 2003  
3970.4.83_

It was only ten p.m. when Marco decided to leave the party, and he didn’t even have to call a cab to get home. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy himself with “we need to talk” hanging over his head, but he went on principle. It was unfair that Ax expected him to drop everything on no notice. It wasn’t okay that Ax didn’t respect him. Marco grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, playing imaginary conversations through his head as he pulled up into his driveway.

There were no lights on, and he thought maybe Ax hadn’t come or had already left until he tried the knob. The door opened without a key, which was obviously not how Marco had left it. Marco entered, squinting into the dark and locking the door behind him. There was no sign of Ax’s person in his living room or kitchen, but there was a box of a dozen cinnamon buns on his counter with three and a half left. Ax was learning restraint in his old age. Marco set his keys down next to the box, took his shoes off, and headed toward his bedroom.

Ax was there, in human morph on his bed, hugging one of Marco’s ten pillows into his face. He looked like he was sleeping, but knowing Ax, he was probably at least one-third awake. Andalites were weird. Marco thought that Ax looked oddly vulnerable the way he was curled up, his face in the pillow. He realized it reminded him of falling asleep crying as a kid. Marco hated the soft, warm feeling spreading out from his stomach at the sight of him. He was supposed to be mad. Ax was so unfair; he always pulled shit like this.

As quietly and softly as possible, Marco crawled into bed beside Ax. Ax turned and blinked slowly as Marco put an arm around him from behind. Marco pressed a kiss into the side of Ax’s neck, and Ax hummed approvingly, turning so they were face to face. As usual, Ax’s human face smelled sweet and cinnamony, and Marco’s body responded to it like Pavlov’s dog. So annoying.

But it had been so long, and no one else made Marco feel this way. Of course it wasn’t long before Marco’s hands were everywhere, and it wasn’t long before he was nibbling and sucking Ax’s lower lip, and it wasn’t long before Ax was on his back and Marco was straddling his hips and biting marks into his neck and collarbone. 

“How much time do you have in morph?” Marco asked, pulling Ax’s shirt up over his head before pushing himself up and working on his own buttons.

Ax, panting, responded, “I still have forty-three of your minutes in this morph.” 

Ax placed his hands on either side of Marco’s hips and pulled him in closer, their bodies moving together in a way that made Marco gasp and fall forward, his hands landing over Ax’s shoulders. 

Clearly conflicted, Ax added, “I have to remind you that I have things to discuss, in case that would change your mind. Not that I am not in favor of doing this.”

“I’m afraid this discussion’s gonna suck, and this is what I want first. If that’s okay with you,” Marco said softly, moving to unbutton his jeans.

“I agree,” Ax said. That wasn’t reassuring, but Marco didn’t care.

~

Marco disentangled himself from Ax and turned on the lamp on his bedside table. He didn’t want to get out of bed, but he didn’t want to be naked and vulnerable for this conversation, so he dragged himself up to retrieve a t-shirt and sweatpants. He sat back down on the bed, where Ax was demorphing.

At each of his three homes, Marco had bought enormous custom-made beds to accommodate sleeping with Ax as an Andalite, if he wanted. It was a little awkward, but it had proven worth it in all locations, even if it embarrassed Eva enough for her to call it his “orgybed” to embarrass him back. The few times he had invited other people over (though never for an orgy), they’d been shocked, but impressed. Marco was into that. When no one was there, he just filled the bed with pillows and it was the same as sleeping alone anywhere, which is to say, he was heavily medicated and still occasionally tossed himself onto the floor somehow.

Ax stretched his Andalite legs out delicately and stacked several pillows against the headboard to lean his upper body against. Marco knew Andalites spent all their time standing and he thought Ax secretly enjoyed lounging around in bed in his normal body.

Marco held a pillow to his chest and leaned into it. “So. What took so long?”

Ax’s ears drooped a bit, like he’d been rearranging things to continue putting off the conversation. ‹A routine diplomatic assignment turned into a heated negotiation that required intensive mediation. I ended up having to travel out to a far-flung branch of the Ongachic fleet to meet with one of their admirals. They requested a treaty, which needed further negotiation and more officials to travel from homeworld, but they still required my presence, and the issue is ongoing and highly classified.› Ax’s thought-speak had a tired, pulled-tight quality.

“Sounds complicated. Was it dangerous?” Marco asked.

‹It was heated for a while, but I believe we will have them as allies by the end of the year.› Ax sounded proud, and not just in the way Andalites always sounded, even when they didn’t deserve it.

“An Andalite year?” Marco said.

‹Yes.›

“So isn’t that basically forever?” Marco joked lightly.

‹No, we are nearing the middle of winter now. But there is much work to be done, still. It is time-consuming.› Ax’s stalk eyes were wandering a lot, even though they were indoors and he wasn’t looking out for anything. He was lightly bouncing the flat of his blade against the sheet. 

“And they want you to keep working on it,” Marco guessed.

‹Yes. I am being offered reassignment to a full-time diplomatic and exploratory mission. It is a choice assignment and would advance my position markedly.› Ax shifted some more, like he was having trouble getting his legs comfortable. He seemed not to know if he wanted his back legs tucked under his body or relaxed and to the side.

‹However, my War-Prince recognizes that the Earth assignment is important to me. He told me the offer is just that, an offer.›

Marco couldn’t believe what Ax was saying. “But you’re considering taking it.”

Ax looked away, only able to keep one stalk eye on Marco. ‹I am.›

Marco buried his fists into the pillow he was holding. His throat was hot. His hands were cold.

‹What are you thinking?› Ax asked after a moment.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, it’s your career,” Marco said flatly. The failsafes that kept him sane in the war were kicking in and clearing everything out. He felt himself letting go, everything going out of focus, becoming unimportant. 

‹Do you care?› Ax asked. His ears were low but rotated toward Marco, imploring. 

Marco wasn’t sure what Ax wanted to hear. Declarations of love? Begging? Reassurances that Ax was the only thing he’d been able to count on for the last four years?

Marco curled his lip in disgust. Why was all that on him? “Do you?”

Ax exhaled heavily and slipped out of bed. He stopped fidgeting but still struggled to look at Marco with his main eyes. ‹I am tired of what we are doing. I believe you are too. I like my Earth assignment, but it is stalling my career. It would still be enough for me, if you would accompany me when I left.›

Marco’s eyes slammed back up to Ax. “What? You’re asking me to come to space with you?”

‹Yes. We could return as frequently as you liked. I don’t think either of us are satisfied with the current arrangement. It feels like we press pause every time I leave. I only want to pause either our relationship or my career. Both is not acceptable.› The more he said, the less he looked like Ax. His posture was too sure and his tail arced up higher than it had to just for Marco. He wasn’t getting an offer from Ax, he was getting it from Prince Aximili.

Marco felt like this was all happening to someone else; he couldn’t sort out if he was terrified, pissed, or both. “You just want me to drop everything. Completely. My whole life. And if I don’t, you’re more or less leaving for good.” 

It was definitely both.

‹Are you even happy?› Ax asked, some desperation edging out of a chink in his facade. ‹Is your hollow public persona more fulfilling than it seems?›

Marco’s breaths were coming out rough. He could hardly process Ax’s proposal, but he wasn’t going to tolerate another dismissal from Ax. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted,” Marco snarled. 

Ax’s tail fell several degrees. His stalk eyes slackened. ‹Then I suppose it is good we will both have everything we ever wanted.›

* * *

_March 2004  
3971.1.31_

Marco stared at his favorite spot on the ceiling, listening to Santorelli’s breath even back out. He’d been hoping to be tired enough to sleep after, but the feeling he had instead was skin-crawling, antsy, trapped. He only had five valium left.

“You're always so quiet afterward,” Santorelli observed, turning to look at him. Marco could see that he wanted to reach out and touch him, but Santorelli knew that was only acceptable sometimes and it wasn’t now. 

“Who are you sleeping with who isn't?” Marco snarked. “Do you want a performance evaluation or something? Sergeant Santorelli exceeds expectations. Performs admirably under pressure. Eager to please and willing to stay after hours.”

“Hm.” Santorelli murmured, “That’s pretty good, but I hope you know that I'm here for you in other ways.”

“I hope you're here, otherwise I'm nuts,” Marco said dismissively.

“Marco.” Santorelli’s voice was low and serious. That voice had been in his ear just minutes before, gently urging. Now he was doing it again, but Marco was far less receptive. “You think I don't know that I'm the only person on this ship you can open up to?”

“And I do, most nights and sometimes mornings.” This conversation wasn’t helping Marco’s feeling that he needed to run, to the point that he was considering morphing after Santorelli left. Dog? Maybe even spider. Something simple enough to take everything away.

“Okay, well. Glad to be of service.” Santorelli turned from his back to face Marco, stretching his lean, sculpted body out enticingly alongside him, but preserving several inches between them. 

Marco’s eyes didn’t leave their point on the ceiling. “Don't be offended, Sarge. You know I think you're great. You're too good, really,” Marco muttered.

“That's stupid,” Santorelli objected. “You saved the world. The galaxy, maybe. You can’t act like you don’t deserve peace of mind.”

“Yeah, and just because we fuck doesn't mean you know where I've been. You can't understand me, and I don't want you to try to.” If Santorelli hadn’t been there, Marco was sure it would have turned into one of his bad nights. With him there, it could still go either way.

“You can’t control that I try to,” Santorelli said softly. 

Marco could feel Santorelli’s eyes traveling down his body and he squirmed a bit as they settled in the usual spot. Along the curve of Marco’s hip, the elegant loops and swirls of Andalite script rose and fell in a line that trailed past the top of Marco’s thigh. Marco finally broke his stare at the ceiling to look balefully at Santorelli as he studied the tattoo. Santorelli had never asked what it was, but he clearly always wanted to. 

“It’s just some saying,” Marco lied. “I was drunk; I don’t even remember what it means. Something about sacrifice.”

None of it was true, not even that he was drunk. He honestly barely remembered doing it, even though it had required visiting Mertil to get the writing, going to an artist to commission the stylization, back to a very confused Mertil to check that it was still legible, and then to the tattoo artist. He probably hadn’t been one hundred percent in his right mind. If someone like Jake had been there for him, he should have been talked out of it. Marco couldn’t tell if Santorelli accepted his answer or not. 

“Do you want me to sleep here tonight?” Santorelli asked.

Marco sighed, surrendering to the bad night. “No.”

Santorelli gave him a smile that was gently disappointed. “You know my bunk is open if you need me.”

“I know,” Marco said. Santorelli slipped out of bed, got dressed, and wished Marco a good night’s sleep. Marco turned away from the door, curling in on himself. It didn’t matter if Santorelli was there or not. It didn’t matter if he had valium or not. The nightmares of letting Ax go to his brutal death would come regardless.

~

Marco was lying draped upside down over one of the terminal seats on the bridge, his back on the chair part, both legs bouncing anxiously. It was Tobias’ turn at the pilot’s chair and waiting for him to be finished was always the most boring because he and Menderash only communicated in private thought-speak. Tobias was a very careful, intentional pilot, which meant he and Menderash were locked in silent conversations for hours, and nothing exciting like flipping the ship or breaking the gravity ever happened to _Tobias_. Of course a bird standing on a chair pressing buttons with his beak was a better pilot than Marco. Of course.

Marco couldn’t get a read on Menderash and Tobias’ relationship, since they rarely spoke “out loud.” Menderash was respectful to Jake, he seemed to appreciate Jeanne’s dedication and meticulousness, and he tolerated Santorelli because he was a hard worker despite being annoying. The looks he gave Marco seemed to indicate he was imagining dousing Marco in gasoline and lighting a match. But his relationship with Tobias was a mystery. Menderash didn’t emote like a human and a lot of the nuances of Andalite expressions were in the tail, stalk eyes, and ears, so he’d basically been stripped of all expressions except his default -- spiteful disdain. 

That was the expression he directed at Santorelli when he approached with a piece of paper. “Can you read this?” Santorelli asked.

“It is a very poor attempt to render Prince Aximili’s full name,” Menderash said dismissively, pushing the paper back to Santorelli after just a quick, contemptuous glance.

Santorelli squinted down at the paper and back up at Menderash. “Why would Marco have a tattoo of Prince Aximili’s name?” he murmured.

Marco slid out of his chair, into the floor. Menderash glared daggers at him and stormed off the bridge.

‹Do you really, Marco?› Tobias asked, sounding oddly eager. Marco, for the first time in years, thought he heard the birdboy he’d stayed up late with, discussing ever stupider pitches for _Star Trek_ shows while Ax got more and more confused about the meaning of the word “fanfiction.” ‹That is so much more embarrassing than I expect, even from you.›

“Yeah, well, you don’t have the monopoly on doing stupid shit because you’re lonely,” Marco snapped, still lying on his back on the floor of the bridge.

‹Sure, but that’s permanent, man,› Tobias teased.

“You’re a fucking bird!” Marco shouted. Tobias just laughed and flapped off into the hall. At least he was in a better mood than Marco had seen since the trip started. 

Santorelli walked over and held his hand out to help Marco up. Marco rolled over onto his side and pressed his forehead into his knees. “I’m sorry?” Santorelli said.

“Whatever,” Marco mumbled. “You and Jeanne are the only ones who didn’t know. Not about the tattoo. That was just between you, me, and Paul.”

“Paul?” Santorelli asked.

“He did Angelina Jolie’s dragon tramp stamp,” Marco explained.

“This is more like her ‘Billy Bob’ dragon, though, huh?” Santorelli teased. Marco peeked up at him from the corner of his eye. Santorelli was grinning, but his eyes were soft with concern. 

Marco held his hand up for Santorelli. Santorelli took it and pulled him to his feet. Or at least, he attempted to. Marco, ever dramatic, made no effort to assist, to the point that Santorelli, eyes rolling and arm muscles flexing, lifted Marco completely off the ground before setting him onto the chair he’d originally been lolling on.

“You know, everything makes a lot more sense now,” Santorelli said.

“I bet,” Marco muttered, flat.

“I always thought you getting ‘caught canoodling’ so often seemed intentional,” Santorelli said. “You don’t fight a secret war but have a legitimate paparazzi problem.”

“It’s never bad PR to be caught making out with a Victoria’s Secret model.” Marco looked up shrewdly at Santorelli. “You always seem to know an awful lot about my publicity stunts, Sarge.”

Santorelli blinked heavily, exaggerating a dignified expression. “Is it a crime to read tabloids?”

Marco shook his head. He’d always gotten the impression Santorelli was a bit of an Animorphs groupie. Marco didn’t mind giving the man what he wanted. It was good for the ego.

“Well, again,” Santorelli said, “Feel free to talk about it, if you ever want to. You know I’m down for whatever.”

Marco narrowed his eyes at Santorelli. “We’re on an aimless mission to rescue my alien ex-boyfriend. You don’t have feelings about that?”

Santorelli shrugged. “Feel like you’re eating yourself alive about it.”

“We’re probably all going to die, and he’s probably already dead, and all I had to do was say ‘stay.’ You don’t care?”

“I already told you the best thing I had going on Earth was cookies, dude. I volunteered for this.”

“And… if we did find Ax?” Marco hadn’t even let himself consider that was a possibility but wanted to know where Santorelli was on their relationship. “What’s that mean for you and me?”

“You and me?” Santorelli grinned. “Do you think I think we’re a thing? You’re the most emotionally unavailable guy I’ve ever been with, and I’m in the Army. ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’?” Marco smirked. “ _Please_ , don’t think I’m under the delusion this leaves the ship unless you want it to.”

Marco nodded. He actually did feel better, talking about it. Funny how that worked.

“Is that why Menderash hates you? Because he blames you?” Santorelli asked.

“He does hate me more than he used to,” Marco confirmed. “I just wonder what the application process for the ‘I Hate Marco Club’ he’s running is like, because I think I deserve to at least be treasurer. Speaking of, as far as I can tell, no one’s flying the ship. You wanna take the helm and I’ll go get him?” 

Marco poked his head into the mess hall. Jeanne was reading a book, and Tobias was eating hawk treats out of her other hand. 

“You seen Menderash?” Marco asked.

‹Not since you scandalized him,› Tobias said.

Jeanne looked up from her book, her bored eyes judgemental. “I hope Marco didn’t do anything disgusting.”

‹Not recently,› Tobias joked.

“I dated Ax and everyone knows but you,” Marco explained.

Jeanne shrugged and rolled her eyes. “You would throw yourself at anything. Let’s find a black hole, see if you find it attractive.” She went back to reading and got more treats out of the pouch for Tobias.

Holding one of the pellets in his beak, Tobias said, ‹Hey Marco, is your Ax tattoo on your butt?› Jeanne, still attempting to read, frowned and shook her head.

“Why? Trying to refine your mental picture?” He tried to sound dismissive, but Marco’s cheeks were hot. The cheeks on his face. “ _No_ , it's not on my butt.”

‹Would you have to take off your pants to show it to me?›

Marco crossed his arms. “Yeah,” he admitted. 

‹You owe me five bucks,› Tobias said to Jeanne. 

“You sound smug, but I think we’re all losers in this situation.” Jeanne was almost burying her face in her book.

“What are you talking about?” Marco asked.

‹I bet Jeanne you and Santorelli were hooking up,› Tobias explained.

“And I assumed Santorelli had standards,” Jeanne said.

“You know, I have movies you guys could borrow. There are better ways to amuse yourselves,” Marco deadpanned.

“I agree,” Jeanne said emphatically.

Marco moved on from the ship gossips, knocking on Menderash’s door. No answer. “Computer, where is Menderash?” That was a gag for no audience -- there was no ship’s computer to talk to. 

Marco approached the Family Computer door. He put his access code in and the panel flashed red. Jackpot. He put in Jake’s access code, which was programmed to override security and was obviously just a “J.” Their fearless leader was not the brains of the group.

The door slid open. Menderash whirled around, glaring venomously at Marco. He ended the call he was on as Marco entered, but Marco had already recognized the Andalite he’d been on comm with.

“Was that Mertil?” Marco asked, squinting incredulously.

“It is none of your business,” Menderash hissed. “For the first time in your life, keep your… your _feet_ on your own grass.”

Marco grit his teeth and felt a muscle go in his jaw. “Our mission is fifth level classification, Menderash, why are you talking to Mertil?”

“What are you insinuating, you little monster?”

“You think I don’t know what Mertil does? What are you telling him?”

“There is nothing to tell him! We are no closer to finding Prince Aximili now than when we started. Don’t insult the last shred of honor I have.”

“I’ll insult all the honor of every single Andalite. You think I trust them with any information about this mission? They’re who sent Ax out here in the first place,” Marco spat.

Menderash’s face fell into a completely blank expression.

“I’m telling Jake what I just saw,” Marco said.

Menderash grabbed Marco roughly by the wrist and twisted. Marco gasped, surprised he felt the pain so acutely. He watched in what seemed like slow motion, fascinated by the tightening of his skin and the strain of rotation against his bones. Menderash stopped right on the edge of doing actual damage.

“Let’s tell him together,” Menderash said smoothly, his face inches from Marco’s. 

Menderash dragged him bodily from the comm terminal and across the hall to Jake’s room. It had been a very long time since Marco had been threatened, injured, and awkwardly aroused by someone so beautiful. He had a nostalgic stir for Rachel, moments before Menderash was granted access into her cousin’s quarters.

Jake rubbed his face, his blankets still over his legs. He was completely unable to keep a normal sleep schedule, as far as Marco could tell, and also as far as Marco could tell, he usually slept at least fourteen hours at a time. When he was actually on the bridge, he seemed more alert, more keyed into his surroundings than he had been in years. The problem was, he stayed in his quarters most of the time, unless someone needed him. Sleepy Jake was gonna love this interruption.

Menderash pulled Marco forward by the wrist and held his hand up as if Marco had a question in class. “Marco wants to tell you something, Captain.”

“What did you do, Marco?” Jake mumbled.

“Menderash is talking to a member of the Andalite media, Jake,” Marco said. “He’s a spy or something.”

To Jake’s credit, he seemed to wake up immediately. “What’s he talking about, Menderash?”

“Please feel free to review the security logs. Mertil-Iscar-Elmand is my only contact, and our association is personal, not professional. As Marco says, he is a member of the Andalite free press, but unless _Mertil’s employer_ \--” Menderash shot a glare at Marco and Marco could swear he was telepathically projecting a reminder that Mertil’s boss was Ax’s mother. “-- cares that Marco has permanently branded his body with Prince Aximili’s name, our conversation was merely two friends discussing the poor decisions of a mutual acquaintance.”

Jake looked between the two of them, his old man eyes clearly communicating that the second they left, he was going back to sleep. He finally settled on Marco. “Do you _really_ have a tattoo of Ax’s name, man?”

“You know, maybe if my best friend had been there to talk me out of stuff, I wouldn’t have done that or _Hollywood Squares_. Whoopi was great, but Gilbert Gottfried is so much worse in person.”

Jake shook his head. “I’ll review the logs to make sure, but this is Menderash’s mission. It doesn’t make sense for him to sabotage it.” He paused. “Mertil-Iscar-Elmand, why is that familiar?”

Marco sighed. “Remember Gafinilan? His husband, we rescued from the Yeerks?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Husband? I thought they were just friends.”

“You’re _so straight_ , Jake. It’s funny and sad.”

“Huh,” Jake said. “And he’s a reporter now? Good for him, I guess.”

“Are we dismissed, Captain?” Menderash snapped.

“Yes,” Jake said. “Marco, mind your own business on people’s personal calls. You’re being too paranoid.”

“Please change your access code,” Menderash advised Jake sharply. Menderash turned around, squeezing Marco’s wrist, yanking him along behind him. 

“If I don’t morph, my arm’s gonna be sore,” Marco remarked.

“What a hardship,” Menderash sneered, pulling him onto the bridge. 

Santorelli was still the only one there, and his eyes widened at the sight of Menderash manhandling Marco to the navigation station. Menderash pushed him down into the chair and shoved his hand against the nav panel.

“I hope you’re taking me to dinner after this,” Marco joked.

“Shut up and focus on your bond with Prince Aximili,” Menderash ordered.

“What?” So that’s what he’d really been discussing with Mertil.

“Picture him while I reprogram the coordinates.” Menderash pressed Marco’s hand firmly again to tell him to keep it in place. Marco watched the reflection of the panel flash in Menderash’s almost-black eyes as the projection rapidly refreshed and he typed at the other part of the panel like a movie hacker. “Focus, Marco.”

Marco looked up and out into the blackness and stars of real space, of Kelbrid space. He tried to accept that Ax might still be out there, needing to be found, instead of already dead. He knew there was no way their puny empathic bond could reach through space and find him. He didn’t know what Menderash was playing at. But he did it.

“You think that Prince Aximili was led into a trap by Andalite high command?” Menderash asked as he worked.

Marco glanced over at him. “I think it’s possible.”

Menderash glanced up over the terminal into the stars as well. “Me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

_August 2003  
3970.4.92_

“Are you ever going back to work?” Eva asked from the kitchen, banging around to make her coffee in what Marco swore was a passive aggressive way. Every clash of metal and plastic against the stone counter elicited another stab of pain from Marco’s right eye socket.

The morning light shining through the wall-to-wall windows of the open floor plan didn’t help either. Marco shut his eyes against the light as hard as he could. Why had he bought such an awful, impractical place? Of course, he knew why -- he’d bought the biggest, brightest, most open house on the market with the hope that an Andalite might be okay with living there. That made it worse.

“You’re so nurturing, Mom. No wonder no one knew you got body snatched,” Marco grumbled, half muffled by the couch cushion. He was distantly aware that he should have felt guilty for saying something like that, but all that was left in him was poison.

“I raised you so wrong,” Eva said smoothly. “It’s really too bad your warranty period expired. That’s how they get you -- can’t tell the kid is defective until it’s too late for the return.” 

The fact that she didn’t even register a reaction to verbal abuse from her only child made the guilt spark for a second, but then it fell into the hole inside Marco and he was just cold again.

Eva crossed her arms over the back of the couch and leaned over. He felt her weight shift the back pillow. He opened his left eye, the eye that wasn’t a traitor, to look at her. She was examining him, frowning.

“Do you want something?” Marco asked.

“Just wondering how long it’s been since you showered and if you need something for that migraine,” she said.

“I don’t know, and it’s fine,” Marco grumbled. He grabbed a throw pillow off the floor and pressed it into his forehead.

“Sure, it is,” she said, and Marco hated the tone she was using because it reminded him too much of himself. “As long as you plan on replacing this couch, since it’s picking up the smell of your corpse.”

“It’s not your couch, Mom. You can get your own place if you don’t like my corpse couch.” He heard Eva walk away and assumed he’d insulted her enough to get her to leave him alone.

But she was just pouring coffee.

“Marco, you know I am _so thankful_ that you allow me to live in this excessive shrine to your ego. It’s certainly not a choice I make because every few months, this happens. I’m bringing you coffee, sit up.” Eva’s voice was soft, but it was still a command.

Marco, pressing his hand into his eye socket, dragged himself up into the corner of the couch, and curled his legs up in front of him. He glared at Eva as she sat down next to him, putting down both mugs of coffee then offering him a bottle of water and a bottle of tylenol from under her arm. When he didn’t take them, she tossed them at his side. The cold water bottle landed on his feet. He looked down at it listlessly. It took a second for him to realize that the appropriate response would be to jerk away from the icy bottle of Evian. Instead, it was like the line between his brain and his body had been disconnected, to the point that he barely registered the impact, let alone the temperature.

He picked up the bottle and pressed it into his eye. Eva sighed and rolled her eyes.

“I want to make sure -- this _is_ the usual? You didn’t get a brain cancer diagnosis or something like that? Would explain these headaches.” Eva pulled her legs up to her chest the same way Marco did and sipped her coffee close to her body.

“I don’t think I can even get cancer, unless surprise, the morphing tech causes it,” Marco said sullenly. “Too bad, though, that’d be good for my biopic.”

“This just seems a little worse than the usual,” she observed.

“As usual, I don’t want to talk about it.” Marco opened the medicine bottle, shook out a few pills, and downed them with half the bottle of water. He leaned forward and took the coffee Eva brought for him -- she was annoyed at him but she still put in just the right amount of cream and honey. Moms.

“You know, I know how to use the Andalite phone,” she said, a threat lying between sips.

“Stop, Mom,” Marco said into his cup.

“I’m just saying, he always does this. I’m your mother and I’m sick of it.”

“You’re not going to call Ax, Mom,” Marco muttered. 

“You can’t stop me if I decide to,” she said, and Marco knew if he kept pressing her, she’d do it out of spite.

“Don’t,” Marco said emphatically, staring into his cup. “It’s over.”

Eva lifted a brow. “I’m sorry, but you’ve broken up before, so forgive me if I’m skeptical.”

Marco shook his head, the warmth of the coffee he was holding under his chin easing some of his headache. “We’re really done this time. He accepted a new assignment; he’s not coming back.”

Eva’s face fell, all the smarminess fading out of her. Marco saw a flash of anger, like now she _really_ wanted to call Ax and give him a piece of her mind, but that faded too. Eva leaned forward and put her coffee on the table, then scooted down the couch to wrap her arms around Marco. She was small, like him, but the weight of her body pressed into his side felt safer and more comforting than he expected.

She delicately lifted the coffee cup out of his hands and stretched to place it on the coffee table without letting him go. Marco’s head settled into the hollow of her shoulder and something about the way she smelled and the way her chin touched his hair made it suddenly hard to breathe. Marco swallowed, his shallow breaths making his face hot. He was shaking with the effort of trying not to cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. It was definitely not in front of anyone. 

Eva tightened her arms around him and held him. Marco didn’t know if she felt surprisingly strong because she was his mom, or if he just felt weak. Marco berated his own loss of control as tears burned his eyes and dampened Eva’s shirt. He was crying about Ax, and that was ridiculous, but he wasn’t just crying about Ax. Ax was just the last one he had to lose. 

Eva let him sob into her shoulder about Ax and Jake and Rachel, and even Tobias and Cassie. He cried for himself and the things he’d done. He cried that in the end he hadn’t saved his mom, not really, and his dad was too scared of him to see him. He would run out of tears before he ran out of bad memories and mistakes.

Eventually, his sobs stilled, out of exhaustion more than anything, and then he was just shaking, wishing his heart would slow, still struggling to breathe around the tightness in his chest. At least he wasn’t crying anymore. His headache was worse. Marco let himself settle down a bit, then pulled away from Eva to take a shaky drink of water.

Eva studied Marco’s face. He could see under the concern she was also a little disgusted. “I look terrible, right?” Marco asked.

“ _Please_ take a shower,” she replied.

Marco nodded and stood, a little unsteady on his feet. He went to his room to get a change of clothes and passed by his mom again on his way to the shower.

“I knew this would happen,” she muttered into her second cup of coffee.

“Oh, Mom,” Marco lamented sarcastically, “that’s too bad, you almost broke the Lisiewicz Castillo record for longest without saying ‘I told you so.’ Guess we have to start over.”

* * *

_April 2004  
3971.1.44_

It took Marco a while to learn to make sense of Andalite thought records. At first, the intelligence briefings and security reports had just been a nonsensical information overload, like listening to every word of an audiobook spoken simultaneously. Nothing was linear, and the level of concentration it took to parse the thought-dumps felt like doing complex calculations, only sustained over a period of time. (Marco extrapolated what advanced math brain strain might be like, since he never got that far in school.)

Menderash had transferred thousands of classified reports to Marco’s datapad without any leads or any indication of how to start. Marco wasn’t about to ask for help, and he knew Menderash wouldn’t provide it, so he just spent all his downtime slamming Andalite reports into his brain until he started to make them out. He was still only able to sustain each report in his head for about an hour before it faded and he had to access it again, but each time he did, more of it made sense.

His chronic migraines were back, but at least they weren’t just from stress and insomnia. A productive headache was better than a depression headache. 

Menderash used Marco to recalibrate the nav system every few days, insisting he could use some kind of residual brainwave information to track Ax’s thought signature. Marco thought Menderash might be losing it, but he cooperated because it was the best lead they had. And what else did he have to do? Since Menderash thought he was onto something, he insisted someone be at the sensor panel 24/7 -- or however you measured “constantly” in space. Santorelli had gotten into the rhythm of dragging Menderash to his quarters when he tried to push himself too hard, which was also constantly. Menderash still wouldn’t accept that his human body couldn’t stay awake as long as an Andalite. Marco wondered if sleep deprivation was causing him to go crazy.

Marco felt like he was also trying to stay awake as long as an Andalite, but he was finally becoming adept at analyzing their reports. Beyond feeling very self-congratulatory, he was also getting deep into them. Most of them were pretty boring, but because of the nature of the information transfer, it wasn’t the same as reading a regular boring report for hours. The information hit all at once, Marco took a second to process it, and if it was all irrelevant, Marco could move onto the next thing. If he wasn’t sure, he could load it into the Family Computer and analyze for specific words or phrases. If he thought it was encrypted, he transferred it back to Menderash.

Since the information was all disconnected, the document he’d been using to keep track of possible leads was a complete mess. His brain wanted _so much_ to draw connections, but with every new report, he had to reshape his assumptions and theories. He’d gone through two legal pads, writing down lists of Andalite dates and code names of missions and the names of officers that popped up again and again. He’d drawn lines between the possibilities and scribbled them out when signs pointed elsewhere. All he had were suspicions and conspiracies and an ocean of data. It was like trying to work out the most complex mystery novel plot when you only knew the end and all the words were out of order, but without the assurance that all the clues were even there. 

Marco felt more awake than he had in years.

It might have been in his head, but Marco thought maybe Menderash was coming around to him. As much as Menderash came around to anyone. 

Marco sat cross-legged on his pillow, trying to get as comfortable as possible at the sensor station. He’d already been on this shift for ten hours -- so long everyone else had gone to bed -- and he’d been analyzing Andalite reports the whole time, noting which ones needed to be dissected more thoroughly when he was fresher.

Marco rubbed his hand into his eye as Jeanne joined him on the bridge. She went to the pilot’s console to verify they were still on track then swiveled around to face Marco.

“You’re working so hard, I’m worried you’re Santorelli in morph trying to convince everyone that Marco isn’t worthless,” she commented sleekly.

He was tired and feeling a bit reckless, so Marco grinned, made direct eye contact with Jeanne, and started morphing. The changes were subtle -- he got taller, bigger in general, his skin got lighter, his hair started to shrink into his scalp. Jeanne stood, horrified, the rosy undertone draining from her dark skin. Marco, laughing, reversed the morph before he started getting wrinkly and paunchy. His old white dude morph was always a good party trick.

“Oh my god, Marco, that wasn’t funny!” Jeanne cried.

“Pff, okay, sure it wasn’t.” Marco blew her off, looking back down at his datapad, about to hit himself with another thought dump.

“Really,” she said seriously, “don’t do anything like that around me again.”

“Okay,” Marco grumbled, lifting an eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“You seem to forget you and the rest of the Animorphs were not the only ones affected by the Yeerks at the end of the war. It’s typically narcissistic of you,” she scolded.

“Thanks, Ms. Freud, send me your bill if we ever get back to a place with currency.” Marco waved her off and looked back down at his datapad.

“I’m here to relieve you,” Jeanne said impatiently.

Marco turned back to the sensors. Nothing of note, and he’d set alarms for readings outside of normal parameters. “I’ve got it, I’m still working.”

“What does Menderash have you doing?” Jeanne asked. “Are you editing his stream of consciousness narrative on the horrors of the human experience?”

Marco smirked at her joke. He tipped his datapad at her. “Andalite intelligence reports.”

Her jaw dropped. “Why did he give you this assignment and not me? _I’m_ actually qualified!” 

Marco snorted. “I mean, I know you’re French CIA or something, but as far as I remember, only one of us was the mastermind behind dismantling the Yeerk Empire and ending an intergalactic war. But I’m sure you’re very well-trained. And _so organized_ ,” Marco drawled, examining his fingernails. 

Jeanne collapsed back into the pilot’s chair, seething. “Do you think it’s because Andalites are sexist? I have done nothing but attempt to prove myself to him. Professor Berenson already relies on me, but… he decompensates often enough that Menderash is running the ship.”

“It’d be like that even if Jake was all there.” Marco shrugged. “His strongest trait as a leader was knowing how to delegate. Jake doesn’t know how to run a ship. Menderash does.” 

“This is so frustrating!” Jeanne slammed her journal into her knee. “You’ve been nothing but an annoyance and he gives you more responsibilities!”

“Thanks,” Marco said. “Maybe he gave me this assignment to get me to shut up.”

“I have a doctorate. You didn’t even go to high school. I speak six languages, including _Galard_. You don’t even speak Spanish. I’ve been an agent for the _Direction générale de la sécurité extérieure_ since the end of the Yeerk War. And yet I’m nothing but a secretary on this ship.” She waved her notebook at Marco for emphasis.

“I don’t think anyone asked you to take those notes?” Marco added, “Also, you’re so gorgeous when you speak French.”

“It’s a nervous habit,” she explained with a shrug. “Also, _va te faire foutre_.”

“Beautiful,” he sighed. Marco held out his datapad. “Here, have a report, see if you can make sense of it. It’s not like I’m territorial about it.”

Jeanne eyed the pad hungrily and leaned forward to snatch it out of his hand. “How do I access them?”

“Same way you access messages on the comm terminal,” Marco said.

“I… have never used the comm terminal.” She didn’t look up from the files she was examining.

“Even Sarge uses it sometimes,” Marco said. 

“Santorelli is likable,” Jeanne said coldly. “Show me how to access the reports.”

“Focus on one and… I dunno, like, just tell it to open? Also, be prepared, it’s not thought-speak, it’s different.” Marco leaned forward, waiting for her to get overwhelmed with the info dump.

She was definitely overwhelmed. The datapad and her leather notebook both clattered to the ground as she pressed her palms into her eye sockets. Marco stood, scared and concerned as a pained whimper escaped Jeanne’s throat.

“Uh,” Marco said lamely, afraid to touch her because _every fucking person on this trip was damaged._ “Jeanne, are you okay? Jeanne?” Her elbows hit her knees, pressing her hands into her eyes with more pressure. Marco grimaced. “I’m gonna get Menderash.”

He ran down the hall to Menderash’s quarters, beat on the door, and drew a “J” into the panel. The door slid open. Jake Berenson: human disaster who doesn’t change his passwords after a known security breach.

Menderash was lying fully clothed on top of his blankets instead of under them, his pillows stacked neatly at the foot of his bed. He glared ferociously up at Marco.

“I would say I cannot believe you would violate my privacy, but I can believe it and if you don’t leave immediately, your remains will never be found,” Menderash murmured coldly.

A shiver ran up Marco’s spine. “It’s Jeanne, I did something to her. She tried to read one of the intelligence reports.”

Menderash rose out of bed. “Interesting,” was all he said, but he walked briskly out into the hall. Marco scurried to keep up with his long strides. 

They arrived on the bridge to find Jeanne, her hands now pressed against her ears, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face. Marco looked at Menderash helplessly, but as usual, he had no expression.

“This is a proof of concept,” he said simply.

“What do you mean? Can you help her?” Marco’s heart was racing and the words came out louder than intended.

“Do I look like a doctor or a neuroscientist?” Menderash said.

“I don’t know what you look like, Doctor McCoy,” Marco said sharply. “Why didn’t you tell me this might happen?”

“Because I thought I was correct in my hypothesis, and I was. But it would have amused me more if you had been so afflicted without expecting it,” Menderash said. “And I didn’t authorize you to share these reports.”

“You were hoping to torture me? What’s wrong with you?” Marco yelled.

“What’s wrong with me?” Menderash tipped his head to the side and put his vacant face near Marco’s. “I am trapped in this grotesque body, and it was for nothing. There are no Kelbrids, in case you haven’t noticed. I have lost everything, including my identity. Spare me my small diversions.”

“Help Jeanne!” Marco shouted into Menderash’s face, his fists clenched.

“What happened?” Santorelli was standing in the entryway, staring at Jeanne, whose condition was unchanged. He must have heard Marco yelling. He bent down next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She continued rocking, but her shaking stilled a bit.

“Marco allowed Jeanne to access one of the Andalite reports he has been analyzing. The human brain is not equipped for such intake,” Menderash explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Marco yelled, shaking. “What were you trying to do to me?”

“I accurately hypothesized that your permanently altered brainwave patterns as a result of your pair bonding to Prince Aximili made you capable of using the data. Again, I did not authorize you to share them.”

“This isn’t helping,” Santorelli said. “Can’t you talk to her or something? Would your own Andalite brainwaves or whatever, like, interrupt the feedback loop or something?”

Menderash glared. “Possibly you haven’t noticed that I am no longer an Andalite.”

Santorelli objected, “You can’t tell me that Marco has Andalite brainwaves and you don’t.”

“I told you no such thing, pay attention.” 

“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done,” Marco accused in a whisper.

Menderash turned impassively to him. “I assure you, it is not.” Menderash knelt, wavered with his balance a bit, and then leaned in to study Jeanne’s face. 

He carefully opened one of her streaming eyes with two fingers. She didn’t flinch or respond at all. He stood and tilted her face up to the light, still examining her eye. When Menderash wiped his hand off on the front of his shirt, Jeanne’s eye wrenched shut again. Santorelli put a hand protectively on the back of her head, tilting it back down. He was chewing his lip with worry.

“I am concerned that thought-speech would only further contribute to the problem,” Menderash concluded.

“Oh, _now_ you’re concerned,” Marco sneered.

“Human language is imprecise,” Menderash clarified. “Don’t attribute sentiment where there isn’t any. Either way, in his vast foresight, the Captain did not staff this ship with any medical personnel. I have no further insight into her condition. I believe she would be safe to move to her quarters, if you wanted to do so. I will have Tobias relieve you at the sensor station, Marco.”

Marco was shaking, his fists tight. He was fighting a very tempting urge to punch Menderash in the mouth. He met Santorelli’s anxious gaze and decided to just let it go. Marco picked up Jeanne’s notebook and his own datapad, giving it a cursory glance for damage -- they were pretty rugged, really just a frame for holographic projection, so there wasn’t much to damage.

“Do you need help moving her?” Marco asked.

Santorelli laced one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her with apparent ease. “I’ve got her,” he confirmed.

Marco followed Santorelli down the corridor to Jeanne’s quarters. Marco pressed his palm to the access pad and the panel flashed red. Of course Jeanne didn’t leave her quarters unlocked. Santorelli sighed. Marco shook his head and drew Jake’s access code into yet another panel, granting them access to her room.

Not that any of them had much personal flair or many possessions to make a mess with, although Marco managed, but Jeanne’s quarters were immaculate. Even the papers on her desk were parallel with the edge of the desk, her books neatly stacked, the spines aligned perfectly. Marco rolled his eyes and tossed her notebook down haphazardly, sliding some papers and a pen into crooked disarray. 

Santorelli shifted her in his arms. “Will you turn down her blanket?” 

Marco pulled her crisply folded blanket and sheet down, and Santorelli laid Jeanne carefully onto the mattress. Santorelli ran his hand through his hair anxiously and continued to look down at her. She was still trembling, but at least she wasn’t doing Hear No Evil, See No Evil anymore. Her face was just scrunched up like she had a bad headache in her sleep. Santorelli pulled her blanket up over her shoulder, apparently needing to do something to fight the helplessness.

Marco’s response to helplessness was generally withdrawal, and now that there was nothing else he could do, he needed to lean into that. “I’m going to my quarters,” he said, his voice soft and flat.

“I’m going to stay here and watch her for a while,” Santorelli said, demonstrating that they were indeed, very different people. Santorelli glanced down at Marco. “This isn’t your fault.”

Marco sighed but didn’t say anything. He left Jeanne’s quarters for his own and threw himself down on his bed. He rolled up tightly in his blankets and stared up at the ceiling. 

Until that point, he hadn’t resented Menderash or hated him or whatever. He was sullen and ill-tempered, but he’d always been like that, even when he was Ax’s communications officer on his first ship. Marco hadn’t completely understood why Ax trusted him so much, especially not enough to promote him to First Officer on the _Intrepid_ , but Marco still didn’t understand a lot of Andalite motivations. Now that he was a human _nothlit_ , though, Menderash had crossed the line from cold and unpleasant to volatile.

And still, Marco could rationalize that. He’d watched his whole crew die. He’d lost his captain. He blamed himself. Marco understood that implicitly. Menderash had felt like he had nothing to lose when he’d sacrificed himself to go on this mission, but he regretted it now. Was his behavior on the _Rachel_ excusable?

Marco looked down at the datapad he’d been pressing to his chest. He’d almost forgotten he still had it. He’d taken in terabytes of data over the course of the last week or so. He felt like a supercomputer. Menderash had taken a risk, letting him access these reports -- well, it wasn’t a risk to Menderash; he didn’t care about anything. But having seen what could have happened, was it worth it?

Marco didn’t hold out hope that the reports would help them find Ax. He’d still not found any evidence that pointed to intentional sabotage or misconduct, let alone some coalition with the Blade ship that could give them a lead. But if Marco was anything, he was petty. He couldn’t save Ax, but if anyone was responsible for what happened to him, he wanted to make them regret it for the rest of their long Andalite lives. It would be worth it.

Marco had spent what seemed like endless hours of the last couple weeks swimming in Andalite security reports. At this point, he probably had a clearer understanding of the Andalite military than any human. It was fitting, since he had apparently become the utmost human authority on Andalites. Ax’s counterpart. Extra fitting, since neither of them had a real understanding of the other’s culture besides pastries and honor. 

A tight ball knotted in his chest. Even if they never found Ax, Marco now had empirical evidence that their time together had changed him. Mertil had acted like their empathic bond was important, more important than Marco understood. Now he knew the extent of it, that it had actually changed his brain. He already knew that there was no coming back from losing Ax. He traced his hand down the line where he could picture Ax’s name imprinted into his skin. He was marked on the inside as well as the outside.

Contemplation was making him sick to his stomach; he needed a distraction. Marco looked back at the pad, picked a report and opened it, feeling the surge of data unfold in his mind. Like always, it hit him all at once, like suddenly learning something he already knew. If this was some kind of gift, he was going to use it to find who was responsible. Besides himself.

Marco’s eyes unfocused as he combed through the data, noting on his pad anything even remotely relevant to Ax, to the _Intrepid_ , to the scattered continued Yeerk activities, and the clandestine missions the Andalites were conducting on former Yeerk colonies. Those were the most interesting reports, the ones that undermined the military’s openly stated goals of working in galactic partnerships to rebuild what the Yeerks had destroyed. They worked so hard trying to paint themselves as noble and above it all, but in the end, Andalites were sneaky and unscrupulous, just like every other faction grasping for power. You didn’t get to be top dog by being the most gentle in the pack.

Relevant data was rare, though, and most of the intelligence reports were the kind of boring but invasive things governments do -- spying on civilians, controlling the media, influencing the decisions of the civilian government. Marco dismissed those reports quickly. He didn’t have delusions the Andalites were decent, and those reports didn’t help him. Still, his document of notes was becoming unwieldy again, and he would need to go through it and reorganize it the next day, when he wasn’t so keyed up.

The door to his quarters slid open, and Marco started a bit. “Sorry,” Santorelli said, putting a hand up. 

Marco shook his head, trying to clear up space for other things. “How’s Jeanne?”

“Talking,” Santorelli said, sitting down on the side of Marco’s bed. “She says she has a splitting headache, but otherwise, seems herself.”

“So, mean?” Marco asked.

“Just a bit.” Santorelli took in Marco’s wrapped-up-caterpillar state. “I think she’s gonna be fine. Are you okay?”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Marco said. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. I think she knows,” Santorelli said. “You’re okay.”

Marco glared up at Santorelli. “I’m not okay,” he insisted.

Santorelli lay down facing Marco. He usually looked playful, younger, but in that moment, Santorelli looked a lot older than twenty-four. He had the same weary air that Jake always had and suddenly Marco wanted to push him away. Jake’s problems were too hard. The best thing about Santorelli was he made things easy. Selfish -- but that was Marco.

Gently, Santorelli took the datapad out of Marco’s hands. Marco anticipated he was going to set it aside, maybe make a move on him. Marco was already stretched thin, but that wouldn’t be unwelcome, considering they’d both been rattled. Instead, Santorelli looked intently at the screen.

“What are you doing?” Marco asked, voice peaky.

“I’m curious,” he said.

“ _Don’t._ ” Marco warned. He put a hand on Santorelli’s chest. Usually his heartbeat was strong and steady. It was racing. A thing they had in common. “What are you _doing_? I don’t want you to have a freakout in my bed, Sarge.”

“I need to see.” Santorelli looked oddly determined. It was unsettling. 

Marco untangled himself from the cover and stood up, ready to leave if he couldn’t handle it. Marco’s breaths came fast and unsteady. He’d always felt like he was in control when it came to Santorelli.

Santorelli settled his eyes on one of the files and Marco watched them glaze over. Santorelli winced, like he heard a loud noise, but as far as Marco could tell, nothing happened. He didn’t even react as much as Marco. Marco leaned forward, peering at him, examining him for signs of freakout. 

Santorelli laid the pad down in Marco’s spot. “I’m fine.”

Marco sat back down on the bed, his hand on his chest, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. “What happened?”

“It was like, noise. Like my brain was filled with TV static.” Santorelli sounded distant, disconnected. It wasn’t like him. 

“That’s not how it is for me,” Marco said.

“I figured, but it’s kind of what I expected.”

Marco lay back down, setting the pad on the bedside table beside him. “Why? Are you okay?”

“What did Menderash say? Your brain was ‘permanently altered’?” Santorelli sighed and rolled over onto his back, pulling a Marco and staring moodily at the ceiling. “Guess being a Controller for three years will do that too.”

Marco’s mouth fell open and he stared at Santorelli. He studied his face for the sign he’d missed. That completely invisible, former Controller sign. Marco would know if that existed. Sometimes, he thought he saw it in the ways his mom had changed. Then he’d look in the mirror and see the same changes in himself. If there was that kind of sign, he hadn’t found it yet, and he didn’t find it in Santorelli either.

Santorelli looked at Marco out of the corner of his eye. Marco snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Santorelli look so exposed. It was like he was crumbling before Marco’s eyes. It took everything Marco had to stay.

“How?” Marco asked.

“You really think I joined the Army on my own? I was a soft kid,” Santorelli murmured.

“You, soft?” Marco smiled, despite the solemnity of the situation. Maybe because of it. 

“Even more than now,” Santorelli said. “I _was_ having trouble figuring out how to pay for pastry school, but I was just going to take out loans. My grandma was sick and I wouldn’t have left her if it was really me. Essak didn’t even let me go to her funeral.” 

Santorelli paused, collected himself. “I had a friend in The Sharing who convinced me to talk to an Army recruiter at school ‘just to see what my options were.’ I wasn’t interested, but they flagged me and infested me a few weeks later. They wanted a presence in the military, and kids like me were perfect targets. My friend Liu was one too.”

“So that Snickerdoodle story is some sick joke between you two?” Marco asked, remembering the way Santorelli had told the story. Looking out the corner of his eye, blushing -- Marco read it as flirty embarrassment, but it had been obvious he was lying at the time. Santorelli was a good bullshitter; he knew how to distract from his tells.

Santorelli grinned his charmingly asymmetrical smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Heh, you could see it that way. I don’t. Yeerks only know how to do what their hosts know. Essak never had to cook and assumed it was all the same -- signed up for that duty so enthusiastically. Crashed and burned. As far as memories from that time go, frustrating and humiliating my Yeerk and having my real identity affirmed is one of the better ones. I do make a mean snickerdoodle.”

“So, three years from the time you were like, eighteen?” Marco worked it out. “Right up until the end of the war, huh?”

“Yeah,” Santorelli said. “I was in the final battle, on the wrong side.”

“God,” Marco said, grinding his palm into his forehead. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t worry about it, I know feelings aren’t your strong point,” Santorelli said. 

He rolled to face Marco. Marco avoided looking at his face; instead, he stared at the collar of Santorelli’s tank top and the dense scruff of dark hair that Marco knew went all the way down. Maybe Santorelli noticed his wandering eyes. Maybe he just needed the contact. Either way, Marco wasn’t prepared for Santorelli’s hand on his arm and flinched away a little too violently.

They both took in sharp breaths at the same time and their eyes crashed together. Santorelli was hurt, scraped raw. Too much. Marco put his arm over his eyes as Santorelli rolled out of bed.

“It’s not you, Sarge, it’s me,” Marco moaned.

“I know,” Santorelli left and slid the door shut behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

_November 2003  
3970.4.134_

It was still there. Marco didn’t know why he was surprised or what he expected would have happened to it. It _was_ different, now. It was one of the stops on the Andalites Do Santa Barbara Tour, and that meant there were lots of little offerings left there: floral arrangements carefully chosen to age beautifully, small trinkets woven from plants, actual Andalite plants that had been planted and were growing up around it… Really a lot of plants.

From the outside, was hardly recognizable as the place Marco had lived for most of the last part of the war.

He looked up at what had been Tobias’ tree, almost expecting to see him there. It was so familiar, but so different, that the cognitive dissonance made Marco a little uneasy. It wasn’t a good feeling. But had he really expected it to be a good feeling, coming back?

He didn’t know what he expected. He didn’t know why he’d come. He and Ax had never celebrated an anniversary, to the point that Marco had to open a calendar and figure out what date it actually was, based on the fact their first kiss had been five days after Thanksgiving. One day after Marco committed a murder. Good thing no one would ever ask them their “how did you get together” story now. It would have been four years -- off and on, but it was still the longest Marco had committed to anything.

His chest tight, Marco approached the edge of the scoop. The entrance was basically all grown over, both with plants that were familiar, originally cultivated by Ax, and with wild overgrowth. Marco parted the curtain of foliage, trying and failing to not rip at it. He peeked in and his breath caught in his throat. He sat down on the edge of the scoop, mostly because he felt like the ground was spinning. He rubbed his thumb hard into his right temple, massaging at the low grade headache he’d just gotten used to coming and going.

Ax had moved to the Hork-Bajir valley with everyone else after all the parents were evacuated and had fashioned a half-assed scoop there, but he’d abandoned most of his possessions in this one. It was basically as they’d left it. The old 90s TV, with Ax’s frankensteined proto-TiVo that had changed their lives. The horrible, ratty, old recliner Marco slept on when he wasn’t sleeping on Ax. The little bookshelf filled with atlases and _Guinness World Records_ and physics books Ax had thought of as children’s books. The desk where they’d hacked the NSA on Ax’s iMac (that had made it to the valley, though) was still covered in the action figures and toy spaceships Marco had brought in for flavor. It was all still there, where they left it.

Marco realized this was a horrible idea and was probably the most maudlin thing he’d ever done, but he’d bounced back from the breakup so well that he’d earned a relapse. After all, he’d only bought three cars and a Segway, invested in putting motors on those wheelie shoes, dated three models, judged an episode of _America’s Next Top Model_ (his credentials being “dates models,” “knows Tyra,” and “very familiar with smizing”), signed a sponsorship deal with an energy drink company (lifetime supply of free samples -- exactly what he needed, since he never wanted to sleep again), and gotten _only one_ horribly ill-advised tattoo. He was doing super well at being free and single. 

Marco walked over to the La-Z-Boy, silently praying that rats weren’t gonna run out when he sat on it. They didn’t, but he knew it had to be infested with invisible parasites and his skin started crawling. Whatever, he’d deal with it; it had parasites when he’d repo’ed it from the street in the first place. He wasn’t too good for his old life. Rest in peace, Gucci jeans. 

He sank into the dirty old chair and looked around. This had been home for the most intense part of his life. The part of his life that shined so brightly with both horror and true camaraderie that nothing he did would ever eclipse it. Even if he won an Oscar (hah), he’d never surpass the feeling of winning by the skin of their teeth, running back here and collapsing into Ax’s arms. Peaked as a child soldier was way better than peaked in high school. It came with way more fun prescriptions.

Marco’s chest ached and the ball of tension in his stomach spread cold out to his limbs. His dull headache had ratcheted up to the ear-ringing stage. If he thought he was going to get closure here, he was wrong -- he was just aggravating the open wound. He fisted the sleeves of his hoodie and roughly wiped tears off his face with his wrists. He looked down at the damp fabric and remembered that he’d got it on sale and it had still been over $200. He laughed roughly that Rachel would appreciate that he was a brand whore now and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was emptier than this scoop.

Marco looked up at the dirt ceiling and took a deep breath. This was a stupid idea, like every idea he’d ever had. But he’d done it and it was over and he knew it hadn’t helped, so he was free to never come back. Checked that off the bucket list. He stood and brushed the back of his clothes off, trying not to imagine all manner of pests falling off him. 

He left the scoop and looked back up to Tobias’ branch out of habit.

 _Holy shit_ , he was hallucinating.

‹Boo,› Tobias said, his thought-speak quiet and emotionless.

“There is literally no way,” Marco murmured, his hand over his mouth.

‹You use that word, ‘literally.’ I do not think it means what you think it means,› Tobias quoted.

“Oh my god, you’re still a shit.” Marco was feeling uncharacteristically sensitive and raw, but he’d never wanted to hug this bird so badly.

‹You too,› Tobias said. ‹What are you doing here? Feeling sentimental?›

“Yeah, I guess. Clearly,” Marco admitted. Because he felt too vulnerable, he added, “I mean, I thought it might be a good place to sleep, and then I remembered I own three houses.” 

‹Wow, Marco, leave some for other people.›

“I figure between you and me, we cancel each other out as far as conspicuous consumerism is concerned.”

‹Somehow, I doubt it,› Tobias said. ‹But I haven’t been keeping up. I bet you get up to a lot of charity, like Cassie. _Right_?›

“You are so cold, you know that? No one puts me in my place like you. I _really_ miss it.” Marco’s tone was high sarcasm, the best way to hide that you were actually being sincere. Marco didn’t know how much he really had missed Tobias until he saw him there. He had to stifle a nostalgic groan when Tobias started preening his chest feathers. How ridiculous.

‹So I take it from the fact that you’re here like this, you’ve not seen Ax in a while.› Tobias, always with the subtle perception.

“Not for a while,” Marco confirmed. “He was doing really well, I guess, last I knew. Got a promotion. Isn’t coming back.”

‹Oh,› Tobias said. Marco wondered if he regretted waiting too long. Marco could empathize with that. There were probably so many things left unsaid by the both of them.

Silence hung between them, awkward, dark, and heavy. Marco had missed Tobias; they’d come to a better understanding than Marco thought possible when he first met him and just thought he was a dweeb. Another loser he’d have to fight for Jake’s attention. Marco eventually realized Tobias wasn’t that, that he was thoughtful and careful and witty -- a lot of things Marco appreciated. Even so, he never stopped feeling like Ax was the glue that held them together. They didn’t have a friendship that didn’t include Ax. He was sure Tobias felt the same.

“He didn’t talk about it much -- you know Ax -- but he really missed you,” Marco offered, finally. He’d rather talk about Ax, even if it was painful, than deal with silence and Tobias’ unyielding stare.

‹I know,› Tobias said. ‹He tried. Probably harder than anyone. I guess even Ax gives up eventually.›

Marco’s breath caught in his throat. He was pretty sure Tobias was just talking about himself, but Marco still took it personally. He forced out a short sigh and said bitterly, “Maybe if you’d have come around, it wouldn’t have been all on me to give him a reason to stay.”

Marco was so very good at keeping people he cared about close. His interpersonal relationships might as well have been a trail of bodies behind him.

‹In that case, who could blame him for leaving?› Tobias responded, his voice clipped. Yeah, Marco deserved that. He even agreed. Tobias didn’t fly away, and Marco supposed that was some kind of victory.

“So, uh, what have you been up to?” Marco asked.

‹I’m a hawk, Marco,› Tobias said. ‹I’m not here for small talk.›

“Then what are you here for?” 

‹I don’t know,› Tobias admitted. ‹I just flew back from Wyoming a couple days ago. I spent some time at the new Hork-Bajir colony. I guess… I guess this still feels like coming home.›

“I know what you mean.”

* * *

_May 2003  
3971.1.49_

Word spread about what happened to Jeanne to Jake and Tobias. Jake, to his credit, realized it was probably a bad idea to leave all the workings of the ship to an Andalite who had increasingly little concern for anyone’s welfare, including his own. He tried to be around more. He mostly succeeded. He at least requested more accountability from Menderash, who responded with his usual questionably sincere deference.

Tobias, like Santorelli, had been curious about what an Andalite thought dump would do to him. Marco didn’t know how Tobias felt about technically being half Andalite, but besides that, he’d been Ax’s _shorm_ , technically closer to him than Marco but without the naked parts. Actually, no, both Tobias and Ax were always naked. Point being, Tobias and Ax shared things that Ax hadn’t shared with Marco, and for longer. They didn’t share an empathic bond, but they hadn’t had to. They were family before they knew they were family.

Marco wasn’t as protective of Tobias as he had been of Santorelli -- he figured Tobias was a grown bird and could make his own decision on whether he wanted to have a brain overload seizure. Marco transferred him a report to take in alone in his own quarters. Tobias wasn’t the type to want a trip sitter.

Tobias had been able to ride out the thought dump and reported back, to Menderash’s great interest. He described it similarly to Marco’s experience, possibly even a little clearer than Marco’s first time with one of the reports. Menderash had nodded, self-congratulatory, like that’s what he thought would happen and had hoped to find out. Like a vaguely sadistic social experiment. Marco didn’t know if he found that creepy or sexy.

Who was he kidding? It was both.

Tobias seemed satisfied that he was at least as much Andalite as Marco and expressed no further interest in the reports. He wanted to save Ax but said he didn’t see the point of what was probably a wild goose chase. Unlike some people, Tobias said, he wasn’t interested in revenge. That was fine, since Marco preferred having control of the process, and Tobias was perceptive but not calculating. Ultimately, Marco knew that was why Menderash had picked him to do the job.

Jake was interested in the reports, if they could shine any light on the mission. Obviously no one wanted Jake to try it, probably least of all Jake. The last thing they needed was for him to have it even less together than his baseline. There was no reason to think he’d have an outcome different, if not worse, than Jeanne’s. But he didn’t want to be left out of the loop, even if he acknowledged Revenge Against the Andalites was more Menderash and Marco’s pet project. 

Jake asked Marco for weekly briefings on his findings and theories. He knew it was just so Jake could feel involved and like he was doing something, but something about needing to report motivated Marco, rekindled a need to impress Jake. His old crush on Jake was a surprisingly comforting nostalgia. He’d moved so far past it, but the feelings were simple, and they were warm to slip into.

Marco worried things would be weird with Jeanne, but she seemed to want to pretend nothing happened. Fine with Marco. He had a much easier time dealing with guilt when everyone involved pretended things were okay.

It was the same with Santorelli. Marco really, truly tried not to push him away after Santorelli confided in him. Santorelli was good, and he didn’t deserve it, but Marco had needed him for a specific reason and Santorelli had compromised himself. Now Marco couldn’t pretend that Santorelli was strong and uncomplicated. Now Marco knew he wasn’t just being hero-worshipped for saving the planet but for saving Santorelli, personally. Now, instead of providing emotional support for Marco because it was comforting for both of them, Marco had the weird feeling Santorelli was paying off a debt.

Even though they pretended it was the same and carried on as they had, it didn’t _feel_ the same. But as long as they pretended, Marco could ignore the nagging guilt.

Marco was glad he had an espionage puzzle to distract him, because six months in, the boredom level was so dire that even Menderash was coming to his bunk to watch movies with him on the regular.

Menderash sat at the far side of Marco’s bed, a pillow hugged into his chest, munching on a pouch of freeze dried scrambled eggs as if they were popcorn. Menderash was the only member of the crew who wasn’t completely disgusted by the mere thought of freeze dried scrambled eggs. Unlike most Andalites, Menderash didn’t seem to care about flavors at all. He was utilitarian -- as long as his nutritional needs were met, he didn’t need superfluous things like rehydration or preparation or a non-repulsive flavor. He ate the preserved food straight out of the pouch most of the time.

Marco had at least gotten him to the point that he accepted that pillows were helpful to achieve comfortable sitting positions, even if he still didn’t like sleeping with them. He’d offered to show Menderash how a bed worked, but the tone he’d used may have been a little suggestive. Menderash never responded well to that. Menderash was a work in progress.

“This film is odd,” Menderash observed. “Is this fiction?”

Marco looked up from the timeline of covert Andalite missions he’d flagged, ones that were basically traitorous in how far from open policy they were. He was reminded of things his mom had told him the CIA had done in Guatemala and it left a coppery taste in his mouth. He’d still not found anything explicitly connected to the _Intrepid_ incident, but at least he felt like he was getting close to exposing a dangerous, regressive cell in the Andalite military. The line was starting to illuminate. Unless Marco was going crazy, which was also possible.

On Marco’s main workstation monitor, Ferris Bueller was looking into the camera giving his soliloquy about “isms.” Marco looked askance at Menderash.

“Yeah, it’s clearly fiction. What, you think it looks like a documentary?”

Menderash noted Marco’s flippant tone with a sharp glance. “The point of fiction is to trick the audience into believing in a new reality. That is not possible if the characters literally speak to the viewer.”

“Oh,” Marco said. “One, that’s not the point of fiction, and you’re creepy. Two, that’s called ‘breaking the fourth wall,’ and it’s a comedic device. Do you guys not have, like, literature and theater? It’s already irredeemable that you don’t have TV.”

Menderash drew back and Marco assumed that if he had facial expressions, he’d have looked insulted. “Of course we have literature.” He paused. “I can’t speak to its artistic quality. I’m sure it’s a fine tradition. I’m certain Mertil would care. I don’t. We do not have theater. We do not have acting.”

Marco squinted in disbelief. “What do you do for entertainment, though?”

“Were you not romantically involved with an Andalite for years?” Menderash squinted back. Menderash wasn’t as delicate about talking about intimacy as most Andalites. Menderash was indelicate in general, which was a sharp contrast to his actual lithe, fine-boned human body. He looked like a ballet dancer, but he acted like Wolverine.

“Yeah, and he spent all of his time eating human snacks and watching human TV.”

“Exactly.” Menderash crunched some more scrambled egg nuggets. Marco wrinkled his nose in distaste. “In all honesty, the artistry of our culture has been stagnant since Seerow unleashed the Yeerks. A full quarter of our population is military. It’s very difficult to produce quality entertainment under a veiled police state.”

If Marco didn’t really want to go to Andalite before, he certainly didn’t now. Marco had grown used to Andalites being critical of their culture and government since Ax grew up and since he’d become friends with Mertil. But neither of them were as harsh as Menderash got sometimes. Menderash rarely made excuses for anything.

“How do you not have acting, though? That’s insane,” Marco said. 

“We are a naturally telepathic species. Due to the nature of thought-speak, honesty and directness are valued above all, while subterfuge and deception are seen as abhorrent. It is also why we place such a paramount on respect for privacy and protocol; because we must be honest, we must also have boundaries. What is acting, if not assuming an identity that is not your own?”

“Acting isn’t lying. All parties are in on it,” Marco insisted. He leaned back against the wall and looked slyly at the back of Menderash’s head. “Subterfuge is abhorrent, huh? Must be hard, being a spy.”

Menderash turned to look at Marco, blinking languidly. “You have already accused me of such, and your claim was unfounded.”

“So I was off on the details, but the big picture’s not wrong. These top-level classified documents don’t just appear on your computer, Ash, give me a break. Jeanne’s not the only spy on this ship.”

Menderash thoughtfully touched his own chin with long, elegant fingers. “On homeworld, one’s role in society is rigidly defined. Accepting a dishonorable assignment was not a difficult undertaking for someone like me.”

“What does that mean?” Marco asked.

“Oh? So you don’t have me all figured out. Shocking,” Menderash drawled in a voice like velvet. “Now, tell me why this is funny.” He motioned a hand dismissively toward Matthew Broderick.

Marco finally set his notes aside, settling in to explain every note of _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ to Menderash. Interpreting comedy for Andalites was one of Marco’s finely-honed skills. Menderash was so utterly different from Ax, Marco was almost able to ignore the rising tightness in his throat as he did it.

After Cameron destroyed his father’s car, Marco checked the time on his datapad. “My sensor shift is about to start. You can finish the movie in here, if you like,” Marco said, gathering up his legal tablets and datapad and spearing his pen into the base of his ponytail.

Menderash didn’t take his eyes off the screen or his chin off the pillow he was hugging. “Thank you,” he said -- a rare moment of sincerity.

The urge to say something sarcastic bubbled up, and Marco swallowed it. “No problem.” And then he couldn’t fight it. “You’re welcome in my bunk any time.”

Menderash puffed out a weary sigh. “I will never touch you, Marco.”

Marco placed a hand delicately over his chest. “You’ve already touched my heart, Ash. It’s too late.”

“I don’t understand why you put forth so much effort to repel me,” Menderash muttered.

Marco smirked at him on his way out. “Yeah you do, dude. You do it to everyone too. Later.”

Marco pressed his hand to his door panel and slid the door shut. He looked back down at the data he was analyzing, flipping back and forth between a couple pages in his legal pad. As he approached the bridge, Marco heard an edge in Jake’s voice. He stopped short of the bridge entrance to eavesdrop.

“-- not there yet. Menderash thinks he’s onto something.” A long pause during which no one responded audibly. “I know that. He’s got nothing to lose.” Another pause. Jake was either talking to himself or to Tobias. “It’s hard on everyone. It’s not like we like powdered creamed corn either. I still don’t think it’s time to go home yet.” Marco’s mouth went dry. Was Tobias really trying to get Jake to turn around and give up on Ax? _Tobias_? “Okay, Ishmael, but Captain Ahab eventually found the whale.” Pause. “No, I didn’t finish it… Oh. Still.”

Marco crossed his arms around the stuff he was carrying and dipped into the room, leaning against the entryway. Jake looked up from his conversation with Tobias, who was perched on the back of the sensor station chair. Marco didn’t know why _Jake_ looked like he had his hand in the cookie jar. He wasn’t the turncoat.

“Is this a topic up for group discussion?” Marco asked.

‹I don’t think you and Menderash are objective, Marco. So, no, I don’t really want to have a discussion,› Tobias said. ‹I brought my concerns to Jake, and now he’s heard them and I’m gonna go.›

“Is life too hard for a bird in space, Tobias? Bird vitamins not treating you right? You need some fresh air?” Marco taunted scornfully. “It must be so hard on you, if you’re willing to give up on Ax like that. You, of all bird-people.”

‹You’re losing it, Marco. Have you even seen yourself? You look worse than Jake,› Tobias said. Jake frowned down at him. ‹Sorry, Jake,› he added. ‹You know Menderash had already gone around the bend when he was so eager to go _nothlit_ \--›

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Marco snapped. He rubbed at one of his dark circles, the pressure relieving some of the dull ache shooting through his right eye socket and temple. He barely even thought about the headache anymore.

‹Yeah, I am. I know where you have to be to do that, and I didn’t have the baggage about it that an Andalite has. Menderash is _not all there_ , and you’re feeding into each other,› Tobias insisted. ‹I get it. You know I do. Ax was all the family I had for years. But when do we give up and move on?›

“Since when do _you_ move on, Tobias?” The implication hung heavy in the air. Marco was heated enough that he knew he could win a staring contest with Tobias’ hard hawk glare. Tobias ruffled his feathers and shifted his talons on his perch. “Let’s see, if I get as much time to be a selfish animal because I lost someone, we have a couple more years to spend out here, at least.”

“Marco, that’s too far,” Jake warned.

Marco whirled on Jake. “What about you? Are _you_ ready to go? Satisfied your guilt yet? Because I think _you_ won’t be happy until we die out here.”

“Take a chill pill, Marco,” Jake advised coldly.

“I’m out. _You_ got any?” Marco glared straight into Jake’s eyes and watched the spark slowly drain away until he was flat again. Jake looked away.

Marco jerked the chair Tobias was perched on around, forcing him to flap to another perch on a pipe near the ceiling, the resulting gust from his wings rustling some of the pages in Marco’ hands. Marco planted himself down at the sensor station, his legs splayed out.

“You’re relieved, Tobias,” Marco sneered. “Hope you can find somewhere to run away to, as usual, while I actually try to help Ax.”

‹Fuck you, Marco. The best thing about this doomed mission is that you’re going to rot out here, and no one’s going to have to hear about it. Or care.› Tobias gave a forceful flap and banked hard down the hallway.

Marco tapped sharply at his datapad, avoiding Jake’s disappointed look. Jake let Marco stew a bit before he started in on the lecture. Funny how it took two of his people having tantrums to bring back Dad Jake.

“That was a lot,” Jake said. Marco looked up at him, fluttering his lashes insolently. “I know things are getting tense and we’re all tired, but I need everyone to be able to come to me with their concerns. I don’t need you barking people down like a mad dog.”

“Is that an order?” Marco asked.

Jake rubbed at the back of his neck, ever the tired old veteran. “No, Marco, just a request to keep things respectful. We’re still friends here.”

Marco inclined his head toward Jake, glaring at him in a clear “are you stupid?” look. “ _Are_ we still friends, Jake? Because I only remember one of us actually making an effort, after the war. Do you think I didn’t need my best friend?” Marco shook his head. “You and Tobias are the fucking same, no wonder you’re siding with him.”

“I’m not siding with him!” Jake raised his voice and then looked like he was surprised to hear it himself. Marco raised an eyebrow. “Look, Marco, I get it. I get that you feel responsible for what happened to Ax. _Believe me_ that I understand what that feels like. But the longer we’re out here, the more you’re externalizing those feelings. I can't keep making excuses for you to everyone.” He paused, his eyes settling on the bulkhead, his hand in his hair. “I haven’t been great at dealing. I know everyone is tired of -- of me. I am too. But at least I'm the only person I take my anger out on.”

Marco inhaled sharply and looked at the ground because his eyes were burning. “If you turn back now, I’m never going to forgive you,” he muttered.

“You’re probably never going to forgive me anyway,” Jake said seriously, taking the pilot’s chair. “I’m not giving up on Ax yet. But you’re wrong; I’m not going to let us die out here. I’m turning us around before we don’t have enough food to get home. You good with that?”

“I’m good with that,” Marco said slowly, turning back to his station. He calibrated the sensors and went back to his classified documents.

Jeanne relieved Marco at the end of his shift with a hand slap, like they were running a relay. Marco, still edgy from the confrontation, didn’t say anything to either Jake or Jeanne. He just gathered up his notebooks and datapad and returned to his quarters. He stifled a gasp when he opened his door, because he hadn’t expected Menderash to still be there. _Brazil_ was playing on Marco’s main display and Menderash was curled around the pillow he’d been hugging when Marco left, asleep. Marco was proud of him, almost sleeping like a real boy, even if falling asleep in someone else’s bed wasn’t the _most_ socially appropriate.

Marco set his work down on his desk, then padded out as quietly as possible, mentally commanding the door to shut silently behind him. He pursed his lips and looked up and down the hall. It was twenty-three hundred hours Pacific Time, according to the display panel on the wall next to the mess hall. Santorelli was probably getting ready for bed, but he also probably wouldn’t mind an interruption.

Marco stood in front of Santorelli’s door. He’d programmed an access request code into both their door panels, so he wouldn’t have to knock or yell and make their thing super obvious. Marco wondered if Jake was still the only member of the crew who didn’t know about him and Santorelli and smirked. Marco drew the request code, just a question mark, into the panel with his finger. After a second, it blinked green and the door slid open.

Again, upon entry, Marco jumped and sucked in a sharp breath. Curled up on Santorelli’s bed was a huge black panther, its chin resting on politely crossed paws, green-yellow eyes looking up at Marco like lamps.

Marco let his breath out slowly. “What’re you doing, Sarge?”

‹Cat nap,› he said. Marco rolled his eyes. He could picture the self-satisfied grin Santorelli would be wearing if he were human. Santorelli stretched out his back legs, flashing claws that looked like scalpels, and rolled over like a dog asking for belly rubs. ‹Wanna join?›

“Are you… trying to seduce me as a panther?” Marco said sardonically. Even so, he went to sit on the corner of Santorelli’s bed.

‹Don’t be ridiculous,› Santorelli said, resting a giant, fluffy paw on his chest in mock offense. ‹There’s no such thing as a ‘panther’ -- I’m a leopard.›

“Cool animal facts, just what I’m here for,” Marco said. “Who needs a _Zoobooks_ subscription when all your friends can just turn into animals and recite encyclopedia entries?”

‹Whatever, man, this leopard is taking a nap and you’re eating up my morph time. In or out?›

“You’re serious?” Marco lifted a brow, making eye contact with the cold eyes of a predator that masked the warm eyes of his friend. As much experience as he had morphing, he hadn’t done a lot of chilling with his friends in battle morph while he was human. His heart was racing instinctively, even though he knew he was safe.

‹Yeah, feel this fur. I’m so soft and warm, and I’m talking even better than my usual. You ever sleep with a cat? I’m twenty times bigger, gotta be twenty times better.›

“My family was never much on pets,” Marco muttered. 

But he complied, reaching out to thread his fingers through Santorelli’s chest fur. Goosebumps swept up his arm and chills ran down his spine. Tactile memory of soft fur in his hands, on his face, pressing against him, warm, in the only safe place -- 

Marco’s breath had caught in his throat, and he let it out in an uneven sigh. Santorelli stared up at him, his paws tucked over his chest like he was begging. Marco closed his eyes and brushed his fingers down Santorelli’s side. With his eyes closed… Almost. He wasn’t as soft, his fur was sleeker, his body temperature was significantly warmer. But still, it almost felt the same. 

Marco stretched out next to Santorelli, burying his hands in the fur on his chest, pressing his face into Santorelli’s shoulder. The leopard was almost as long as Marco was tall, and Santorelli shifted the lengths of their bodies together. Marco intentionally avoided putting his head down on Santorelli’s chest so he wouldn’t have to hear his single heartbeat. With his eyes closed, the fur might as well have been blue. It almost felt the same.

Heavy lethargy swept through Marco faster than usual. Marco was terrible at sleeping alone, but he also hated being vulnerable, so he rarely conceded to co-sleeping. He’d almost forgotten how easily he’d gotten over the weird fur thing. He hadn’t forgotten what Ax felt like.

Sunlight filtered through the slatted front of the barn, casting them in soft bars of orange light. Cassie’s parents were both at the Gardens, so Ax was lounging on a couple bales of hay in his regular body. Marco was leaning into Ax’s side, his cheek pressed into the fur of Ax’s upper arm. He was sort of playing a game on his GameBoy, but mostly he was staring over his hands at a nonspecific point, feeling warm and lazy while they waited for Jake to arrive.

Cassie was making her rounds, as usual. This time she was wearing knee high rubber boots and elbow length rubber gloves. Rachel was leaning over her, her hair falling over her shoulder in a gossamer waterfall. 

“I’m just saying, I don’t know why you don’t go full hazmat suit already. You’re halfway there. It’s a good look, very in for spring,” Rachel taunted.

Cassie pointed a hose at Rachel and she sprang out of the way, clearly prepared to somersault if she needed to. Marco noted her coiled muscles; she’d settled into a stance that looked like she was ready to deal damage. Even when they were just playing, none of them were really at ease. 

Cassie chuckled and waved the hose threateningly. “The deer that was in this cage has intestinal colitis. I’m about to hose it out, and if you want to keep your heels, you better move even further out of the way.”

“These aren’t heels, they’re _espadrilles_.” But she loped over to the corner of the barn where the pitchfork was leaning against the wall. She pulled it down and balanced it in two hands, twirling it like a baton.

“Oh look, I’ve been right all along. We’re in hell,” Marco remarked. “She’s finally been reunited with her weapon of choice.”

“Hah hah,” Rachel said, putting the pitchfork back on its hook and brushing her hands off on the back pockets of her artfully ripped jeans. She hooked her hands into the pockets, the long lines of her arm muscles pulled taut and defined. Marco moistened his lips.

‹I see you,› Tobias warned in private thought-speak.

Marco looked back down at his game and cleared his throat.

Ax shifted restlessly next to Marco. ‹When is Prince Jake arriving?›

‹He’s coming now, actually,› Tobias said from his perch in the rafters, where he could see out the loft windows for a mile on all sides. 

Marco had just entered the boss chamber, so he needed to deal with that before he could save. He tapped the buttons aggressively, moving so much that Ax sighed and pulled his arm away, draping it instead across Marco’s chest. 

Marco didn’t look up when Jake started talking. He was just going on about how he overheard Tom talking about some Sharing thing and really, blah blah, who cared? It was all the same -- Marco would vote no, Ax probably would too, Rachel would vote yes, Tobias probably would too, Cassie would figure out some reason to get all preachy about it and Jake would say her opinions were important but they still had to do it. Boring.

“Marco? Are you listening?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, of course.” The boss had split into three eyeballs and he’d already killed two. He just needed another minute, then he could collect the crystal and leave the dungeon.

“Marco, look at me.”

Marco scoffed, but paused and looked up, feeling a sardonic expression pulling his lips and eyebrows. His face dropped when he did look. Jake was half morphed to fly -- enormous, grotesque -- pieces of human flesh, recognizably Jake, seeping from between plates of fly chitin, eyes ballooned out into red shattered glass, withered hands tipped in hooks, thick black hairs poking out like spines. The worst part, if there could be a worst part, was that his abdomen, his half-fly, half-human abdomen had been ruptured, his fleshy shell broken and his fly-person innards smearing a trail on the ground.

Marco’s breath seized in his throat. He wanted to scream, but the sound was choked, dead in his chest. He looked to Cassie for help, but shook his head when he saw that she was crying, shaking. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a Yeerk. Marco recoiled, shaking his head harder as she offered it to him, tears still streaming down her face. When Marco didn’t accept the Yeerk, she let it fall to the ground with a wet plop. Then she pulled out another and let it fall. She pulled out two in one hand, dropped them to the ground, smacking against the others. She pulled them out by the handful, a seemingly endless supply, squishing under her feet while she wept. 

Feathers streamed down behind Cassie like falling clumps of snow. Marco looked up at Tobias, who was ripping his own feathers out, first from his chest, exposing patchy, raw skin. Then he spread his wing, looked Marco in the eye, and tore out one of his primary flight feathers, letting it fall, bloody, to the ground. Another. Another and another, until blood streamed from the rafter he was perched on.

Marco looked at Rachel, needing her to help him, stop this, do something, act. Rachel, who could always fight her way into some semblance of control of a situation. She stood, but she was perfectly still and limp, like she’d been hung up by a meat hook from the back of her neck. Her head lolled to one side, her mouth open, eyes clouded. She was pale, almost grey, but blossoming red closer to the surface, like her capillaries had all dilated into webs across her skin. She didn’t move.

Gasping for breath, Marco scrabbled at Ax’s arm, still draped across him, except it felt heavy, thick, stifling. He grabbed Ax’s wrist and it was smooth skin instead of fur. His hand was human, but it was the hand of a stranger. Marco twisted to look up at Ax, who was no longer Ax, but a human man. A person holding him down, whose face he couldn’t see.

Marco struggled against the man and the grip around him grew tighter. He pressed his head against the man’s chest, thrashing, gasping, still unable to make a sound.

“Marco!” 

A hand gently shaking his shoulder. Familiar smells of spice and sugar, but not what Marco expected, not the right way. He went to sleep with fur and woke up with a person -- it was supposed to be the other way. They’d go to sleep with Ax in human morph and Marco would wake up to his Andalite body. Why --

Marco finally wrenched his eyes open. Santorelli’s collarbone, the swirl of chest hair peeking out over the collar of his shirt, his strong arms, his big warm hands. He’d demorphed while Marco was still cuddled up to his leopard form, and Marco had felt the changes in his sleep. The comfort of sleeping next to fur had bled into the horror of waking up in strange human arms. But it had just been Santorelli. Not a stranger. Just not what he wanted. Marco’s stomach churned in disgust, but he wasn’t sure where his disgust was directed.

“Are you okay?” Santorelli said gently, smoothing Marco’s hair back behind his shoulder. 

Marco flinched and slipped his head out from under Santorelli’s arm. Marco was slick with sweat, panting, shaking -- not the first time being in bed with Santorelli had left him like this, but for sure the least fun. With several inches between them, Marco studied the sheet, counting out his breaths until they grew more regular.

He sat up, his legs over the edge of the bed, ready to go back to his own quarters. Santorelli laid a hand on his. Marco looked down at their hands, then let his eyes travel up to Santorelli’s face.

“Will you stay?” Santorelli’s voice was cracking with emotion, his face furrowed in concern. “Please?”

Marco just shook his head and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to my regular betas [fairkidforever](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fairkidforever/pseuds/fairkidforever) and [LilacSolanum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum), I also need to thank [Scappodaqui.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scappodaqui/pseuds/Scappodaqui) I'm so grateful for everyone's input and opinions and reassuring me that taking a nap with a leopard isn't too fluffy if I also make it horrible. Thanks, you guys, it takes a village to raise a fanfic.


	6. Chapter 6

_April 2000  
3971.1.46_

It was late to be flying, later than Ax would probably be expecting him. Marco knew Ax was in the middle of his sleep-wake cycle and would be awake for at least another full day, so as long as he didn’t wake Tobias, it shouldn’t be a problem for Marco to get home at two in the morning. Even being an osprey wasn’t taking the edge off the anxiety chewing at Marco’s insides. He didn’t want to be at his parents’ and he didn’t want to be alone.

Marco was almost disappointed Tobias wasn’t awake. He banked hard to get a good angle, then shot into the scoop from well above the treeline. Even more impressive, since his sight was handicapped by darkness. He flared his wings as soon as he had clearance and came to a clean stop in the middle of the scoop. Okay, he was definitely disappointed no one had seen; badass flying tricks weren’t exactly something Marco accomplished everyday.

Marco’s human body rippled out of his bird form, and as his own body asserted itself, the black hole of anxiety grew back with it. But Ax’s scoop was comfortably warm, lit by the moving glow of his TV and computer, and it also had Ax. Ax kept working at his computer -- well, it actually looked like he was having a late night argument on a _Star Trek_ message board -- but he watched Marco demorph with a single stalk eye.

When he was at least mostly human, Marco crossed the scoop and slipped his arms around the base of Ax’s humanoid torso. He pressed his cheek against the soft, warm fur of Ax’s shoulder and let Ax’s calm confidence bleed into him. 

‹Hello, Marco,› Ax said, touching the blunt arc of his tail blade to the middle of Marco’s back. ‹Bear with me, I am explaining to ChakotayIsMine why Seven of Nine is far better suited for B’Elanna than Tom Paris.›

Marco stifled a laugh at what the people on this _Trek_ message board would do if they found out they were arguing about ship preferences with a real, live alien. And not the usual _Star Trek_ ship preferences like whether the original Enterprise is better than the Enterprise-D. Ax had strong opinions about that kind of ship, too, though. Marco wondered if all Andalites were as solemn and dignified as Ax.

Marco scanned the paragraphs Ax had already written and ran his fingers down the fur on Ax’s arm while he continued to type furiously. “No one’s gonna read this essay if you don’t wrap it up soon.”

‹You just want me to give you my full attention,› Ax said ruefully, but he typed out one final sentence and clicked submit. 

Marco hooked his hand into the crook of Ax’s elbow and led him away from the computer. He sat down inside the grass nest Ax had woven for them, and Ax encircled his lower body and the base of his tail around Marco’s back and thigh. Marco settled into Ax’s side and felt time slow down in the tranquil quiet of the only place in the world that felt safe. Marco studied Ax’s hand in the dim, moving light, threading their fingers together and pulling them apart again. Ax brought his other hand to Marco’s face, and Marco sighed and closed his eyes.

‹You’re quiet. Is everything alright?› Ax asked.

Marco ground his forehead into Ax’s chest. “My mom’s having another bad night.”

‹I see,› Ax said. He wrapped his arm more tightly around Marco, sending a wave of warmth from Marco’s core through his limbs. ‹Do you want to talk about it?›

“I -- I dunno,” Marco said. Just being held was already bringing him back. “She’s trying so hard to be strong and keep it together, but she also doesn’t want help, especially from my dad.” Marco focused on the regular alternating rhythm of Ax’s two breathing patterns. “You can’t tell when it’s gonna be bad because she acts like she’s fine during the day, but at night, there’s a fifty-fifty chance she’s gonna basically go catatonic, then she freaks if you try to talk to her.”

‹I’m sorry.›

“She’s like… a shattered mirror version of the person she used to be. And she knows it, and the more she tries to act like she’s fine, the harder it is when she can’t keep it up and shows the broken parts,” Marco said, his voice quiet and cracking. “We have to remind her to do like, basic things like eat and… and move. But she gets frustrated at herself and lashes out when we do.”

‹I confess, I don’t have any advice for helping to rehabilitate former hosts. I was never taught to consider the feelings or consequences for the enslaved. Possibly to lessen our guilt. Possibly because we believed the Yeerks had only infested inferior, less complex species.›

“Well, this sucks in a pretty complex way,” Marco muttered.

‹I know. I don’t think humans are simple,› Ax said. He turned Marco’s hand over and pressed five of his fingertips into Marco’s own. Shivers ran up Marco’s arm and down his spine. 

“It’s horrible. I dreamed of saving her, but I thought it would be over when Visser One was dead,” Marco said. “That was so naive; of course she’s not okay after six years of being helpless while her body was used to commit atrocities. It’s not like being free just fixes it all.”

‹No,› Ax agreed. ‹My people consider the hosts a total loss.›

“Not comforting, Ax,” Marco chided. They sat quietly for a while, Ax using the blunt edge of his tail blade to rub the tension out of Marco’s shoulder. “I know it’s obvious, but don’t ever let them take me.”

Ax stilled. ‹No. I won’t.›

“Promise me that if it happens, you’ll do anything to get me back and get it out of me. I don’t care what you have to do.”

‹I will,› Ax said seriously. ‹But if it ever happens to me, please just kill me.›

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.59_

Marco received the sensor readings himself and didn’t believe them until Menderash verified that it was the Blade ship. Marco’s whole world slowed, time dilating around him in a bubble centered on the viewscreen. 

When he saw The One, his blood turned to ice. 

When Jake gave the order to ram the Blade ship, normal Marco would have screeched “are you insane?” But whatever Marco had become after he saw whatever Ax had become didn’t care if they all died, as long as they freed him.

It hadn’t been a kamikaze strike, like Marco had half-expected. In some ways, taking everything out in a blaze of glory would have been easier. But Menderash knew exactly what he was doing. They had been at full shields. Everyone was bruised and bloodied from being thrown against the bulkhead. But they were all alive -- and a gash had been gouged in the Blade ship’s hull.

Both ships survived. They still had to face it.

Blood streaming down his forehead into one of his eyes, Menderash said calmly, “Just remember the guidelines for boarding hostile ships --” He refused to raise his voice, even though the blaring emergency alarms drowned him out. Marco leaned forward over his shoulder, straining to hear his advice. “Tails up, shredders armed, stalk eyes alert. You are completely prepared.”

“Great! Super helpful!” Marco yelled between alarm klaxons. Red lights throbbed in time with his pulsating temples. “Can you do anything about the noise?”

“How else would we know we are in an emergency situation if we were not deafened and blinded?” Menderash’s face was impassive as always, even soaked in blood. The red strobe light alternating with darkness illuminated something in him. Of course he was composed. Menderash lived like emergency alarms were always sounding. 

“I think the fact that we just slammed into the side of another ship is a clue!” Marco shouted into Menderash’s face just as he managed to shut off the siren. 

The silence left a vacuum in which Menderash made rare eye contact with Marco. The strobe was still pulsing, and each red flash underscored a different meaning for Marco to read into his inscrutable gaze. _I can’t go with you. This is your responsibility. Free Aximili. By any means necessary._ Maybe his hollow expression was just easy for Marco to project onto.

“It _is_ a Yeerk ship,” Menderash said smoothly. “Clearly they are masters of thoughtful design.” He looked down at the small pool of his own blood that had dripped from his chin to the floor. He swiped the sleeve of his shirt across his face, smearing the blood into a sticky mask. 

“Time to move out,” Jake ordered. “We’ll sortie from the starboard hatch.”

“It’d be messy if we attempted to board from the port side,” Santorelli pointed out.

Menderash stayed on the bridge to try to stabilize the ship systems. His shirt was soggy with blood, but he was more focused on the ship than on himself. Typical. Marco paused in the doorway, giving him one last glance before he followed everyone else. He didn’t have space for anything but the cold dread and writhing disgust in his stomach. He couldn’t worry about Menderash too.

Jake and Marco started morphing on their way down the halls. Santorelli and Jeanne weren’t far behind. Marco realized he’d never actually seen Santorelli morph and was briefly drawn in by the fully formed black leopard head atop Santorelli’s human body. He looked like an Egyptian god, the cat-headed one. It might have been beautiful at some other time, but in the throbbing red light and after what they’d just seen, it was ominous. Thick black fur poured down Santorelli’s shoulders like drops of ink filling a glass of water, and Santorelli finished his morph before Marco finished his own. 

‹Yeah, surprise, he’s an _estreen_ ,› Jake said shortly, finishing up his tiger morph. ‹Don’t get distracted.›

Tobias dug his talons into the thick fur of Jeanne’s burly hyena shoulders. The team moved into position outside the emergency hatch on the starboard side. If Menderash was right, the hatch should open up into the gouged out hull of the Blade ship. 

‹Bet you’re ready for this, huh Jeanne?› Santorelli said. Marco recognized the need to fill empty space with nervous chatter. If Santorelli had ever seen action before… well, it would only have been his body.

‹Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? We are trained, unlike our more experienced ‘senior officers,’› she replied snidely. 

Tobias yanked out a tuft of fur from her neck. ‹Take this seriously,› he warned.

‹I am,› she insisted. ‹We studied the old Animorphs' tactics. This team has significant advantages. We are comparatively low profile. We have greater strengths in stealth and infiltration.›

‹Oh yeah,› Marco remarked. ‹Good thing they won’t be expecting visitors.›

‹Marco,› Jake beckoned. ‹Manual hatch.›

Marco lumbered past the others. He grasped and rotated the handle like the crank of an old handheld can opener. The pneumatics released with a hiss. There was a sucking whoosh as he opened the hatch into the Blade Ship’s inner hull. For a second, Marco thought they were probably about to be sucked into the vacuum of space. But the suction was just the cabin pressures equalizing. It was a short jump down into the Blade ship. Who knew infiltration was so easy? All they had to do was crash their metaphorical VW Bug into a metaphorical tractor trailer. 

Their small sampling of most dangerous Earth animals (plus hawk) poured into the Blade ship. Their emergency systems were also engaged, the same flashing red light and grinding siren bouncing off the narrow metal walls. The halls were deserted as far as Marco could see in either direction, but the oscillating red light and darkness didn’t make it easy to see.

‹Tobias, scout on ahead. We’re going the right way when we find goons,› Jake said. Tobias flapped off, the tips of his wingspan brushing either side of the hall. The rest of them followed, Jake leading with Jeanne flanking.

‹Like a video game?› Santorelli laughed uneasily. 

‹Sure, except we’ve never encouraged looting corpses,› Marco joked darkly.

‹Incoming,› Tobias said. ‹Three Hork-Bajir, one wild boar.›

‹A wild boar?› Marco said incredulously. ‹They sent _Babe_ to take us out?›

‹This boar probably outweighs you, but sure, try calling him _Babe_. I bet you have as much chance with that pickup line as you ever do.› Tobias let out his characteristic screech as he raked at the eyes of a Hork-Bajir Controller. The wail of alarm buffered the sound, creating an illusion like Tobias had yelled into a ceiling fan. A really loud one.

‹Jeanne, take out the boar,› Jake ordered. ‹Everyone else grab a Hork-Bajir dance partner.›

Jake surged forward followed closely by Santorelli, who looked like his tiger’s shadow. Jake lept and curled himself around his Hork-Bajir mark, clinching his front claws around the Hork-Bajir’s shoulders and raking his back claws down its stomach. Deep, black scores trailed behind Jake’s massive paws. He continued to bite and kick his back paws. Soon his Hork-Bajir fell to the floor. Santorelli, about two-thirds Jake’s size, took a bit more effort to mirror Jake’s maneuver. 

Marco barreled into the final Hork-Bajir. He pinned it into the wall, his thick gorilla arm compressing the snake-like neck. Wrist blades stabbed into his arm and Marco distantly felt knee blades graze his side. He was pumped full of adrenaline and fear and anger -- pain felt like a vague idea. Less real than the vision of Ax with a hellish mouth that Marco’s brain had burned into the back of his eyes. He swung his ham-sized fist into the Hork-Bajir’s face. Bone shattered under his hand. 

He pulled back for another punch, but was distracted by a loud crunch and a long, piercing scream. Marco turned to see, and his Hork-Bajir melted limply down the wall. Jeanne had the back leg of the wild boar in her massive hyena jaws. The hoof half of the leg dangled limply alongside her mouth. The boar loosed a mad squeal, twisting its body to try to gore Jeanne with a tusk. She let go of the leg with a quick, unhinged laugh, dodged, and lunged forward. CRUNCH! The other back leg shattered in the vice of her muzzle. The boar writhed in the spiraling trail of its own blood. Jeanne let out another chilling hyena laugh. It echoed down the hall, mixing with the siren, composing a song of insanity.

‹Push forward, everyone,› Jake directed. ‹Tobias, scout on, but pull back if you get too far ahead.›

They followed Tobias along the hall for only a few minutes. ‹Two Hork-Bajir and a cape buffalo,› he announced.

‹Wanna team up and take that buffalo out, Santorelli?› Jeanne asked, something eager in her thought-speak. It was almost like she had Rachel’s bloodlust, but tempered with the capacity for calculation and strategy Rachel had never had patience for. Marco wondered if Jake had seen that in her.

‹How’d you know attacking an animal five times my size with a battering ram for a head was my dream date?› Santorelli joked.

‹Because I met your ex.› Jeanne ran ahead, laughing her crazed hyena laugh.

Santorelli rushed past her. ‹You’re evil, Gerard!›

‹Stay behind it and don’t mess around,› Jake advised wearily. ‹Marco, take out your Hork-Bajir ASAP, the buffalo’s probably going to take all of us to bring down.›

‹Got it.›

Marco knuckle-ran forward and grabbed the closest Hork-Bajir by the arm. A blade bit into his hand, but he disregarded it. He flung it backwards in a wide arc, smashing it into the wall. The Hork-Bajir fell into a pile at his feet and didn’t move.

He turned to the buffalo. Jeanne had already crunched one leg nearly in half. Its back left hoof swung freely, holding on by skin and tendon. Jeanne was circling, trying to get another leg, but the buffalo was infuriated, turning circles to catch her. Santorelli was clamped onto its side holding on for dear life, clearly trying to get to the sensitive organs underneath.

Marco felt like facing his problems head on.

‹The back, Marco!› Jake yelled, still locked in battle with the last Hork-Bajir.

Marco ignored him and slammed his fist into the buffalo’s face. It was like hitting a brick wall. The buffalo snorted and turned to him, surging forward to charge. Marco absorbed the impact into his chest about as well as regular Marco would have taken getting hit by a small car. Breathless, Marco was powerless as the buffalo drove him into the wall. The buffalo snorted hot breath into his face. He locked eyes with it. Big, dumb cow eyes. He knew there was a Yeerk in there. And a human. He wrapped his thick fingers around the curves of both the buffalo’s horns like a steering wheel and turned as hard as he could. 

CRACK! The buffalo fell limp.

Marco, panting, slid down the wall. His breaths were shallow. The buffalo’s head on its broken neck hung limp between his gorilla feet. He watched a Yeerk slowly slide out of the buffalo’s ear and slap wetly onto the steel floor. He picked it up and squished it until it leaked between his fingers.

Jake walked up to him, stood right in front of him. Gold tiger eyes to brown gorilla eyes. ‹That was a person, Marco.›

Marco was breathing in rough gasps now. ‹Look around! Did that host have a future?›

‹Demorph and remorph, Marco. Don’t do that again,› Jake said silkily. He walked away to the head of the pack and didn’t look at Marco as he did as he was told.

‹They’d been out here for four years,› Santorelli said to Marco privately. ‹You probably did them a favor.›

‹Save it,› Marco said, lumbering over the buffalo corpse and falling back into formation. ‹I don’t care.›

Jake led them deeper into the ship. They each left their own unique trails of bloody paw prints. ‹We’re approaching the bridge,› Jake said stonily. ‹Don’t just rush in, we need to appraise the situation.› 

‹I can fly in, circle around, and come back,› Tobias volunteered. ‹I’ll case the room and if any follow me, they’ll be easier to take on one-by-one.›

‹What if they have Dracon beams?› Jeanne asked.

‹I’m not dead yet.›

‹Do it, Tobias, but be careful,› Jake said.

Tobias took off from his perch on Jeanne’s back and flew around the corner. Their little menagerie stood around, waiting. Jake twitched his tail, clearly still touchy. Jeanne shook her neck and shoulders out restlessly, her thick mohawk of fur flopping back and forth. Santorelli licked his paw and rubbed it on his ear.

‹Sarge,› Marco interrupted. ‹Far be it from me to judge, but you do have blood on your feet.›

He froze. ‹Oh. Oh gross. I only lost focus for a second. Ugh.›

The echo of shouts rang down the hall and everyone snapped to attention, ready to run. ‹Eight humans and The One,› Tobias announced. ‹They’ve just started morphing, so maybe you can catch them while they’re vulnerable. I’m coming back around.›

They charged onto the bridge and everyone jumped into action. A crocodile had already completed its morph, as had a wolf and a cougar. The remaining Controllers were still mid-morph, including one who was growing rapidly and sprouting a coat of white fur. 

‹Jeanne,› Jake said, his thought-speak cold and dark. He sounded distant but was in fact too close. ‹I need you to take out the guy who’s halfway to polar bear. Do… Do whatever it takes.›

Jeanne let out a horrible sound between a growl and a groan and charged. Jake and Santorelli also went for two other exposed mid-morph targets. Tobias picked the wolf and went for the eyes. Marco should have followed them, should have taken out the Controller who was clearly going lion, should have, should have --

Instead he was frozen in the eye of the storm. The wolf, streaming blood from its gouged face, grazed teeth down his shoulder. He mechanically swatted it away, sending it flying across the room. In the flurry of flashing claws and snapping jaws and all the shifting bodies, Marco could only see one thing.

The One in Ax’s body was making direct eye contact with him. His gash of a mouth lolled open like the smile of a mutilated corpse.

A wild howl of laughter ripped out of Jeanne. ‹I got him! The polar bear is down!›

‹Marco, go knock him out before he has a chance to demorph,› Jake commanded. ‹Marco?›

‹Don’t worry. I think he’s going into shock. It happens when you lose both legs,› Jeanne assured him. 

‹Marco, what are you doing?› Santorelli called out. ‹Jake, we’ve got a problem!›

Marco hadn’t even realized what he was doing. He was demorphing, shuffling toward The One on limbs that were still mostly gorilla.

‹Marco? Marco, _stop_ ,› Jake demanded. Desperate, ragged. Marco ignored him. ‹Cover him, Santorelli, there’s nothing else we can do.› 

Ax’s body shivered, more like a computer glitch than anything biological. He shifted into the rat-trap-faced robot. Marco, now fully human, recoiled but kept moving forward. The One shivered and shifted again into the feminine elfish alien. It never broke eye contact with Marco.

“Stop doing that,” Marco said. His voice surprised him. He felt like he was a thousand miles away, shouting orders to his body through a tube. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of buff fur. He didn’t flinch, even at the low rumble of growling leopard as Santorelli intercepted the cougar that had sprung toward Marco.

“You think you can command me?” said The One, but he shifted back to Ax’s body. The mouth gash and red-rimmed teeth drove straight through Marco like a javelin.

Marco set his numb hands into fists. What he said wasn’t even a choice. He hadn’t planned it. It felt like an instinct or an impulse from somewhere else. “Ax. Ax, are you still in there?” The cheesiest fucking thing --

The One laughed, splitting Ax’s face even wider. The expression forced a smile up to Ax’s eyes. Familiar. Wrong. Revolting. Marco’s stomach turned. “Marco,” The One said. “I hoped you would not be too cowardly to face me directly. Even better, in your own body. What exquisite torment for this host.”

“So he _is_ in there.” Marco swallowed against the hot feeling rising in his throat. He was suddenly aware that he was shaking all over. He was also suddenly aware that the melee around them had stalled. Controllers and Animorphs, all in different animal bodies, had paused mid-battle to watch them. Like some reverse zoo. 

Great. No pressure.

“Ax,” Marco repeated. “You can hear me, right? Fight it.”

The One laughed again, and it passed through Marco’s bones, more feeling than sound. It felt like an earthquake strong enough to knock the pictures off your walls. “This host is begging for death. He has done so unceasingly since I collected his body. The brave and noble Andalites submit so easily when confronted with true power. Do you remember when he asked you to kill him to release him from a circumstance such as this? How pathetic that you will fail to do even that for him.”

Marco ignored it. “Come on, Ax, are you gonna take that? I know it’s not _that_ easy to get you to submit.”

‹Ugh, Marco, _why_ ,› Tobias groaned.

The One continued, “Do you remember all the times he saved you with his quickness and this magnificent tail? How does it feel to know you are helpless to aid him now? I do not need to ask. This body knows how you feel. You are terrified.”

Marco took a step forward. An extrinsic wave of panic pulsed adrenaline through him. Marco felt Ax. He was definitely in there. It seemed like the closer he got, the more the feeling of Ax came into focus.

‹Marco, stop,› Jake warned. ‹It’s in Ax’s body. You’re in striking range. _Marco_.›

“Do you remember joining your bodies together? Such desperate, disgusting creatures. When I collect your body you will be one with him permanently.” The One shot out a writhing red tongue. It licked its ragged lips between its uneven red-rimmed teeth. 

Marco swallowed. “Permanent?” he breathed out a single empty chuckle. “I mean, I’m good, but I don’t think even Ax has that kind of stamina. Plus I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to call a doctor if it lasts longer than four hours.”

Marco reached his hand out. Maybe if he touched him. Maybe that would get through to Ax.

The One recoiled and took a stumbling leap backwards, putting several more feet between it and Marco. Ax’s hooves splayed out wide and his chest heaved.

‹ _Don’t_ touch _it._ › Ax’s urgent thought-speak fired like sparks across a loose fraying wire.

Marco felt his own lips twist into a wrecked smile as he realized what he was going to do. “Ax, kick this nasty monster’s ass so we can go home.”

A shudder ran through The One and Ax’s body straightened like the puppeteer just pulled his strings tight. “Do not be foolish,” The One taunted. “This host has already surrendered to me. All that is left is to make your body a part of my collection. And the body of your leader. My servants will dispose of the others.”

Marco stepped forward again. Another step. If Ax wasn’t strong enough… Well, Marco wanted this to be over either way.

The One jerked unnaturally and Ax doubled over. His delicate arms wrapped around his ribs like that was the only thing holding him together. 

Marco bit his lip, hoping he understood what was happening. He took another step forward and Ax’s spine contorted into a painful-looking twist. ‹ _Stop_!› Ax shuddered again, warped, flashed through the other two host bodies, then back to Ax. ‹ _Don’t touch it, Marco._ ›

Marco was standing right in front of him. “Stop me.”

‹ _I can’t_.› Ax’s broken, ragged thought-speak stabbed through Marco as deeply as The One’s laughter had shaken him.

“If you can’t, then I guess we’re both screwed.”

Too fast for Marco to react, Ax straightened and seized him roughly by his upper arms. The One was strong, stronger than Ax’s delicate Andalite arms had ever been. Or maybe it was just that Marco felt his energy sapping away in The One’s claw-like grip. He tried to struggle, but he could only manage a weak jerk.

There was an angry snarl from behind Marco. He lolled his head around to watch. It felt like he was underwater, watching everything in slow motion. Santorelli coiled and leapt for The One. Marco made a choked sound in his throat. He couldn’t warn him. It didn’t matter. Mid-jump, the crocodile snapped Santorelli out of the air. Santorelli slipped free of its jaws and they rolled sideways, locked in a thrashing hug of claws and teeth. The battle that had paused around them suddenly raged back to life.

The One’s face, Ax’s face, split and mangled with the revolting mouth, loomed inches from Marco’s. Marco watched The One’s tongue undulate, flicking behind the red-tipped teeth like the bars of a cage. An acrid, rotting smell washed over Marco and he gasped, nearly gagging on it. He tensed powerlessly. The One’s face grazed his, like it was coming in for a kiss. The tongue snaked out and touched Marco’s open lips. He couldn’t close them, couldn’t fight it. The taste of death was in his mouth.

The claws around his upper arms clenched. The One jerked him closer then suddenly threw him to the ground. Marco’s head bounced against the floor, but the pain was far away, cushioned by numbness. His vision waned dark around the edges, flashes of light, only for a second. He rolled over to his side coughing, choking, willing back the bile that had risen in his throat. The cold steel floor seeped the paralysis out of his body.

The One had collapsed to Ax’s knees and was clawing at -- _its? His?_ \-- throat. His spine twisted, lurching unnaturally. Shudder, phase into the rat-trap, the elf alien, Ax. His body cycled a couple more times, like he was destabilizing. He started to shift -- not like the shift between bodies, now, but more like he was morphing. He stretched and bulged, contorting in ways Marco hoped wouldn’t haunt his nightmares. 

Like a hideous tumor, a writhing mass of flesh and half-formed bodies, Ax expelled The One from his back. A wave of deja vu, cold and then hot, washed over Marco -- a flash of visceral memory of a crocodile fighting its way out of Rachel’s back. It was so far away, both in space and time, but it felt close enough to touch. How could that have been seven years ago? Of course Rachel came out of that ready for a fight. 

The One unwillingly ripped itself out of Ax and fell to the floor, writhing and shifting uncontrollably between its other two forms, seemingly stunned. Ax collapsed, twitching, hyperventilating, mouthless, next to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so HUGE THANKS to my betas [Scappodaqui](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Scappodaqui/pseuds/Scappodaqui) and [LilacSolanum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum), who dragged me kicking and screaming through this chapter over and over until it wasn't total BS. Like seriously, I've made Scappodaqui hold my hand and tell me it'll be okay for three days. I hope you enjoyed the result of my suffering.
> 
> This is also where I have to say that this part of the fic owes a lot, spiritually, to LilacSolanum's [The Rachel](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9208901). Please go read it because as much as I've worked on this, her confrontation with The One is still true horror and I'll never come close. Thanks, Lilac, for being truly supportive even though I've been treading the same dance floor as you for months.


	7. Chapter 7

_October 1995  
3968.4.118_

Marco held his key in his mouth, his Spider-Man keychain bouncing against his chin while he struggled. He tried to shift his bags all to one side so he could get the door open, but the handles of the bags were already biting into his hand. His fingers gave out, the handles slipped, and the bags fell to the ground. Luckily, they didn’t have far to fall and the cans didn’t rip the bags open. He sighed, took the key out from between his lips, and shouldered the door open. 

The smell hit him first and he groaned. It was worse when you came back to it. Damp sweat, garbage, old laundry. Heavy, stale, sour. It was dark. It always was. But now Marco was burdened by heavy groceries and couldn’t just go to his room. He almost tripped on a shoe that was out in the middle of the floor and he swore loudly -- no one cared anymore, he could say whatever he wanted. 

He looked down at the shoe to kick it out of his way and his chest seized, blocking his breath with a wave of heavy pain. A single black pump barred his way. One of the ones with the practical heel, like she’d wear every day.

_“Don’t tell your dad these are actually pretty comfortable. I need my weekly foot rub.”_

Marco forced in a shuddering breath and stepped around the shoe. He shuffled into the kitchen. Off balance and straining, he bumped the corner of the counter. Blunt but still sharp pain resonated up his triceps. He hissed out another swear. He actually couldn’t remember the last thing he said that wasn’t some frustrated profanity directed at himself. He’d stopped trying to talk to his dad.

He heaved his groceries up to the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator so he had at least some light to put them away. The fridge was mostly empty and it would stay that way. He’d done all his shopping at the 7-11. It didn’t exactly have a wide selection of produce, but it was the only place close enough for him to walk.

He’d already made everything in the house he knew how to, so he’d just bought a bunch of cans of Spaghetti-Os and Campbell’s soup and a big package of ramen noodles. It wasn’t like his dad was even likely to notice. Half the sandwiches Marco made him, Marco ate himself for breakfast when he woke up the next afternoon. 

He hadn’t been to school for almost a month. His dad hadn’t been to work. Both the school and his dad’s job had called. Marco answered. Made excuses. Told the school he wasn’t ready to come back. That was only half true. Honestly, at this point he was still worried to leave his dad alone.

Marco didn’t bother taking the cans out of the plastic bag; he just put the whole thing in the pantry. Bread on the counter, single slices of cheese in the fridge. That was it. He closed the fridge and was plunged into complete darkness. He leaned on the counter, waiting for his eyes to readjust. He imagined he was turning into some kind of owl or deep sea fish. Humans weren’t supposed to live in the dark like this. He didn’t want to feel like a human anymore anyway.

He contemplated making dinner. It was after eight. Was he hungry? He couldn’t tell. Even if things had been normal, even before, his mom had been staying late at work a lot. There was no guarantee she’d have even been home yet. His dad would have had dinner waiting for her. He’d have shoved Marco full of snacks to hold him over so they could eat a real meal together. She was never coming home. They would never eat a real meal together again. 

Marco left the kitchen. Spaghetti-Os weren’t a real meal.

He squinted into the living room. The only light filtered in past the edges of the curtains. He delicately picked up the shoe that was in the middle of the floor and set it next to its mate by the door. He toed his own shoes off and kicked them into his pile. Two pairs of sneakers and the dress shoes he’d worn twice. The first time had been the one time his mom had dragged him to church. The second time he’d worn them had been to her funeral. His dad only had two pairs, sneakers and loafers. But like fifteen pairs of heels and sandals and whatever else women’s shoes were called stood in a neat line against the wall. 

Marco pressed his fist into his forehead and squinched his eyes shut. He was kneeling in front of her shoes like he was holding a vigil. He couldn’t take it anymore. He felt like they were being haunted. The ghost of his mom was everywhere in their house. Who was going to get this stuff out of the way?

He pushed himself upright, groaning like an old person. He was so tired all the time now. His body hurt for no reason. It was ridiculous. He was eleven. 

He went back to the kitchen and pulled a big black trash bag out from under the sink. It pulled loose and the box was empty in his hand.

“Fuck.”

Just great. Another thing.

He pinched open the bag and shook it out loudly. Making noise was kind of satisfying after a month of silent darkness and tiptoeing. It was stupid. Someone had to perform the exorcism. It wasn’t going to be his dad, so it had to be Marco.

He started with the shoes. He carefully placed each pair into the trash bag. He realized he should probably donate them; they were all still pretty nice. But the thought of a strange woman walking around in his mom’s shoes was too weird. Like he’d be out in town and recognize the scuff on that heel and know. No. He couldn’t have his mom, so strangers couldn’t have her stuff.

He’d put half the shoes in the bag before his breath hitched and he realized his face was wet. He sat back on his knees and pressed his wrists into his eyes. He was fine. Someone had to do it. Someone had to cook. Someone had to shop. Someone had to do laundry. Someone had to keep the lights on.

He leaned forward, an unwilling high-pitched whine creeping out of his throat. He sniffed and swiped at his tears with the sleeves of his hoodie. He hit himself, hard, in the temple. He couldn’t sit here and cry like a girl. Someone had to have it together. He was his mother’s son. 

He piled the rest of his mom’s shoes into the trash and dragged the bag into the living room. He looked down at his dad on the couch, guilty that the sight of him made his stomach turn. He stank, he was dirty, he was totally checked out. Marco wasn’t even sure when the last time he moved was. His eyes were open so he wasn’t asleep, but it was like he was looking at something that wasn’t there. He probably was. 

Marco looked around the living room. He propped his bag up against the armchair and went over to their entertainment center. He looked up at the framed family pictures. There were some professional shots -- a family Christmas portrait from a couple years ago, Marco’s school picture from the year before -- but mostly his dad liked candids. There were lots of pictures of Marco and his mom laughing, their noses wrinkling in the same way, pulling the same side of their mouths higher than the other to expose the same crooked tooth. 

He clenched his fists and his jaw. He looked up at another candid, just of his mom. It was from the last roll of film his dad had developed. She was curled up on the couch with a book and it looked like his dad had just caught her attention and snapped the picture as she looked up over her shoulder. She wasn’t laughing or even smiling -- it was just his mom -- but there was something about this picture. Like it caught the sharpness in her eyes, the glint before she smiled. It revealed that biting part of her that had made her the strongest person Marco knew. 

He had that in him, he knew it.

Okay, the easy part: he dragged his bag over to the coffee table and raked in all the trash. He examined a bowl, wrinkled his nose at the mold, and threw it away too. Anything that was just his dad’s garbage nest went in the trash. He glanced at his dad, still lying on the couch, his face half buried. His eyes weren’t even tracking Marco. 

Marco sighed.

He scanned the room for more evidence of his mom. He removed all her coats and scarves from the coatrack, leaving his several hoodies, his dad’s single jacket, and a hat his dad never wore because his mom always teased that it made his head look big. He’d definitely never wear it now… Ignoring the tightness in his chest, Marco grabbed the hat and put it in the trash too. He knelt down and pulled the stack of magazines off the lower level of the coffee table into his bag. He pulled the bag back over to prop against the chair and faced the row of framed photos again.

He reached for the captivating picture of his mom and set it aside for himself. He took down all the rest of her pictures and set them facedown in the seat. He methodically collected all the pictures of her off the walls and laid them all facedown.

He turned and jumped when he noticed his dad sitting up. His dad was pointing his face at Marco, but it felt like he was looking through him, not at him.

“What --” his dad started, but his voice was so hoarse it sounded more like a cough than a word. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning house,” Marco said. He crossed his arms. His dad looked down at the bag full of his trash and Marco’s mom’s stuff. It was like his dad was moving in slow motion, like his brain was taking longer to fire and make connections. Marco didn’t have the patience for that. “Someone has to do it.”

“You’re… you’re throwing away Eva’s stuff?” His dad looked up at Marco like he was being betrayed. Like how could he, they were in this together.

Marco didn’t _have_ to be in this.

“She’s _dead_ , Dad! She doesn’t need her shoes or her coats or these magazines.” 

Marco’s dad flinched like he’d slapped him. “How can you just… throw her away?”

“This _stuff_ isn’t her! She’s already gone. We have to… move on.” Marco waved a hand at his dad. “This isn’t living. This is gross.” His eyes were burning and hot tears slid down his cheeks again. He quickly swiped them away.

His dad’s eyes had already gone out of focus again. He was staring into the middle distance, not connecting anymore. His dad curled back up and lowered himself down into the couch again. As if realizing he didn’t want to see what Marco was doing, he turned over so he was facing the back of the couch. 

Marco scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and dragged the trash bag into his mom’s office. He had to take care of himself. He didn’t need his dad’s help. He couldn’t count on it. 

He couldn’t wait for him to get better.

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.59_

Menderash was looking up at the main feed from the Blade ship when Marco made it to the bridge. He had Ax draped over his shoulder, one big gorilla hand on the dip of Ax’s spine above his tail, the other knuckles braced on the ground. Marco was barely aware of how he’d gotten there, especially when he looked up at the feed and saw his friends were still fighting on the bridge of the Blade ship. He guessed he should have felt guilty, but they were far away. Everything was far away. He repositioned his hand on Ax’s back and ran his fingers through the fur along his spine.

‹Ash,› Marco said to get his attention.

Menderash spun slowly in his seat, keeping his eyes on the battle over his shoulder until he’d turned all the way to face Marco. He still hadn’t cleaned himself up. He was in the kind of shape that took about three hours to achieve in makeup. The kind of shape where Marco would have been like, _hey, maybe cool it with the fake blood -- less is more._

Menderash’s eyes were a little slow to focus, especially for him. When he stood, he wavered a bit, but he still crossed the bridge with calm assurance. His composure seemed surreal juxtaposed with the ripping and clawing battle still raging on the screen behind him. Ax’s tail had been dragging, limp, on the floor and Menderash picked it up. About two feet down from the blade, he pressed his fingers into the skin like he was taking his pulse. 

“Take him to the infirmary,” Menderash ordered. He carried Ax’s tail while Marco brought Ax through the dimly-lit hall down to their small med bay. Menderash had turned off the strobing light and now the ship felt almost normal. That made it weirder that Marco knew the rest of the crew were still fighting for their lives.

Menderash helped Marco spread Ax out on the exam table. They arranged him as best they could, but his legs and tail hung awkwardly off the sides. After he was settled, Marco demorphed while Menderash used some kind of handheld medical device to check Ax’s vitals.

“Can you tell anything?” Marco asked, unable to take his eyes off Ax’s unmoving face. He was unnervingly still; even his breaths were slight to the point he seemed lifeless. But at least he didn’t have a mouth. 

Menderash focused intently on the stats rolling up the holographic interface that apparently were clues to Ax’s condition. “He is not dead. He is unconscious. I am ill-equipped to interpret any other information. Unfortunately, our captain did not think medical staff were essential personnel. Three spies, a baker, and a bird. The ideal crew composition.”

Marco smiled, despite the situation. A spy just called him a spy. “Maybe he just didn’t want to have to deal with the situation where the captain has to be relieved by the Chief Medical Officer because he’s unfit for duty,” Marco posited.

Menderash looked up from the display acidly. “I do not know what you mean, but I am sure it is irrelevant.”

“You know me so well,” Marco remarked. 

Menderash crossed to the terminal on the wall, swaying again when he stopped in front of it. He pulled up a series of screens, manually entered several codes, then said, ‹Menderash-Postill-Fastill, former First Officer of the _Intrepid_ , currently on a level-five classified mission, authorization code _kheertha_ -four-eight-eight. My vessel is in need of emergency medical assistance. Priority one.›

Menderash dismissed the interface and turned back to the table where Ax lay. He braced himself against it and shut his eyes, leaning slightly forward over Ax’s back. He drew deep, measured breaths. Beads of sweat on his brow mingled with the mostly-dried blood, the verge between the two bright red like watercolors brought back to life. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Marco asked.

“I am fine,” Menderash dismissed. “Probably. Human bodies have… miserably inadequate endurance.”

“We actually evolved to have higher endurance than the prey we hunted,” Marco pointed out.

“Yes, and the former predators of the Andalites are now extinct. I believe I know how humans versus Andalites would play out,” Menderash said.

Marco scoffed. “You better figure out who to root for then, because I think you’re not exactly playing on the Andalite team anymore.”

Menderash glared. “No, I am, as humans say, ‘sidelined.’ It doesn’t mean I have switched teams.”

“I think you’d probably play for both teams.” Marco snorted halfheartedly at his own innuendo.

“Don’t mistake me for Aximili. I am not confused about my loyalties. I am loyal to specific people, not _the_ People.” Marco stared at Menderash. That was probably the most open he’d ever been about himself. 

Marco didn’t have long to think about it.

‹We’re evacuating!› Jake called, his thought-speak patchy, like he was barely in range. ‹Be ready to pull us out of here!›

Menderash snapped to attention and was out of the room before Marco even registered he was moving. Marco knew what that was like -- pushing down your own pain and powering through. He’d deal with the consequences later, but Menderash’s duty was bigger than himself. Marco rarely identified with the Andalite sense of duty, but…

He looked back down at Ax. He’d never seen him look so… not peaceful. _Still_. Lifeless. Even sleeping, Andalites didn’t look like this. Marco touched Ax’s hand. The velvety fur, the long, delicate fingers, everything felt the same except that Marco didn’t feel him in there. Not in the regular way and not in the extra superpower way. He threaded his fingers in between Ax’s first five digits and felt his pulses, weak, between their fingers. 

He should have tried to make himself useful in the evacuation and escape, but realistically, he would just be in the way. He was the worst pilot, even after seven months of harsh tutelage. He was good at the sensors, but they didn’t need them anymore. He was good at the weapons station too, but he hoped they wouldn’t need those. The most useful thing he could do was stay with Ax and hope he came out of it.

‹Everyone accounted for and on the bridge,› Menderash announced over the intercom, Marco assumed for his benefit. ‹Shields at full power. Hull integrity at seventy eight percent. Disengaging -- prepare for turbulence.›

The grind of the _Rachel_ ’s hull against the Blade ship made Marco grit his teeth. It was twisting metal combined with nails on a chalkboard, vibrating bone-deep. He could feel the ships scrape alongside each other until the _Rachel_ pulled away with a jerk like firing a rubber band. Marco had braced himself against the exam table, but still pitched forward over Ax, whose limbs shifted limply with the snapback.

Momentum shifted to acceleration. The initial whiplash and rumble of pulling free evened out into the familiar rush of climbing to Z-space jump speeds.

‹We’re out of firing range of the Blade ship. They are not pursuing. Hull is at fifty four percent. Initializing Z-space entry,› Menderash stated matter-of-factly. 

Marco felt the familiar full-body rush of their matter shifting into Z-space. The ship then settled back to comfortable cruise speeds. They were back to feeling like they were riding a plane or a bus, the sort of speeds you could just walk around and live without feeling like your guts were about to be pulled out.

Menderash, still pallid and clammy, returned a few minutes later to make sure Marco hadn’t let Ax slide onto the floor or something. He re-checked Ax’s vitals with an annoyed scoff. He muttered to Marco without making eye contact, “We are out of danger. The captain reported they disabled much of the Blade ship’s crew and only evacuated when The One began to stir again.”

“Did you watch that whole fight?” Marco asked, suddenly embarrassed.

“You mean how you foolishly and improbably saved Aximili by talking to him and throwing yourself at a dangerous, unknown entity? Yes, I saw that absurdity.” Harsh words delivered gently. A special Menderash mix that Marco had come to recognize as how Menderash dealt with being overwhelmed. Marco could relate. “I was certain you were going to get everyone massacred. That should not have worked.”

“Why did it?” 

“I don’t even know what The One is,” Menderash chided. “I can only hypothesize that whatever domination it asserted was destabilized by your empathic bond with Aximili. The importance of that particular trait is… overstated in our culture. Many ‘miraculous’ recoveries of mates have been attributed to it in what you would call Andalite popular culture.”

“Yeah, it’s cheesy in our culture too, don’t worry,” Marco said wryly. “Jake and Cassie saved the galaxy with the power of love once and I never stopped giving them shit.”

“Personally, I would prefer not to speak of it again,” Menderash said. “And we shouldn’t. We still do not know the extent of the Andalite military’s involvement in Aximili’s capture. You should sanitize this for the official reports. The encounter with The One should not leave this ship.”

“What a relief.”

Without warning, Menderash pitched forward and his knees buckled. He caught himself on the exam table, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. 

Marco leaned forward, “Are you gonna be okay?” 

“Yes, I am just losing consciousness due to blood loss.”

“Of course,” Marco said. “That’s obviously fine. I know what you’re going to say if I ask if you need help.”

“I am going to go to my quarters to lose consciousness in private. Have someone verify I haven’t died before we rendezvous with the medical cruiser. We’re on course to meet them within sixteen Earth hours.”

“Great plan, ‘verify I haven’t died,’” Marco mocked. “So much better than having someone look after you.”

Menderash ignored him and lurched out of the infirmary. Marco sighed and turned back to Ax. His condition hadn’t changed, and there wouldn’t be any further information for sixteen hours. Marco felt a war inside him between fear, restlessness, and exhaustion. He didn’t know what good staying with Ax would do, but he knew the thought of leaving made his stomach twist.

Marco pulled a chair up next to the table, face to face with Ax when he sat down. “Why do I keep ending up here?” he asked Ax. “Is it just that I’m so naturally caring and compassionate?” He sighed and put his elbow on the table and rested his face in his hand. “You know, no one likes the silent treatment. Andalites are so passive aggressive.”

Time passed -- minutes, hours -- it was hard to say, and Marco listlessly drifted in and out of complete awareness. He was startled when Jake pulled a chair up next to him. 

Marco could tell that Jake was kind of in shock, his distant, tired expression somehow even more hollow and stormy than usual. He was probably overwhelmed that they’d actually been successful. If Marco never let himself believe they could actually find Ax, he wondered how much Jake had actually thought it was possible. It wasn’t like Jake was much more of an optimist than Marco. Marco wondered if Jake even had a contingency plan for winning, or if he was just going to lose the sense of purpose that had been holding him together for the last seven months. 

“You probably feel like that turned out okay because you rescued Ax,” Jake said darkly. “But you were completely out of line pretty much that whole mission and you put everyone at risk.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time, Fearless Leader.” 

“ _No_ ,” Jake said and Marco flinched. “Don’t give me that. I’m not your leader if you don’t listen to anything I say. You can’t make me responsible for you going off-script and _killing_ people, especially if you wind up putting our people in danger too.”

“I’m not going to argue ethics with you,” Marco said. “If you still think killing Hork-Bajir isn’t as bad as putting human Controllers out of their misery after who knows how long, I don’t know what to say to you.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Jake muttered. “And it’s not for you to decide in the middle of action.”

“I didn’t really _decide_ ,” Marco admitted. “Everything just sort of happened.”

“You could have listened instead of forcing us to cover you.”

“And who knows if we’d have Ax now if I had?” Marco said. 

“You had no way to know that would work. You forced us to go one on two against those Controllers while you tried your best to get eaten. Santorelli probably wouldn’t have made it out of there if he wasn’t an _estreen_. Are you okay with that?”

“I don’t really care about ‘what ifs’ after the fact,” Marco said.

“You don’t really care about _anything_ besides yourself, Marco,” Jake shot back, his voice smooth and low the way it was when things had gone bad in the war. “Maybe if you’d _ever_ listened just once when someone told you no, you wouldn’t be _like this_ now.”

Marco looked up at Jake, eyebrows raised. It wasn’t like he didn’t care that Jake was getting heated. Nine months ago he might have begged for it, even if it meant having his best friend expose his painful insecurities. But Marco had already burnt out -- each jab felt like a single drop of boiling water falling into the sea of cold inside him. 

“Yeah?” he said softly. “You think I need more discipline in my obedience training?”

“That’s what I mean! This is why you have to pay people to be around you!” Jake didn’t raise his voice, but his hands were white-knuckled, fisted. He was looking at the ground instead of Marco. It wasn’t about Marco. It was about Jake not being in control of what could have happened. It was about the fear of failure, of losing more of his people, and what that would mean for how he’d manage to live with himself. He was pissed at Marco for making him stare back into that void.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if someone returned my calls,” Marco murmured. 

Jake seemed to deflate. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“And how _did_ you mean it?” Marco asked. “Better stick with your strengths and leave the scathing personal attacks to me. It takes me longer to feel bad about it.”

Jake sighed. “You scared us,” he admitted. “It worked out, but you know I don’t need more to blame myself for.”

“I can’t control your martyr complex,” Marco scoffed lightly.

“Says the guy who threw himself into the arms of a creepy bodysnatcher to save his ex.” Jake smiled. A bit of the tension subsided.

“About that," Marco said. "It can’t leave this ship.”

“What?”

“Menderash says we should keep The One to ourselves. Which works for me because I actually turned down a role with that ‘I know you’re in there’ bit because it was too corny.”

“You’re embarrassed?”

Marco crossed his arms. “ _You_ can save the galaxy with feelings. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“To be fair,” Jake said with a slight mocking smile, “I think you saved Ax by being annoying, which is pretty on brand for you.”

“Hah, _hah_.”

“Come up with the official story, like usual. We’ll stick to it,” Jake said. Marco nodded.

They fell quiet. It was less awkward than it could have been, considering. Both of them ragged, neither of them really wanting to be alone. Eventually Jake patted Ax on his side, said, “Good to have you back,” and left.

Santorelli was next to visit, probably hours later -- Marco had no way of knowing. He brought Marco a bottle of water and some reconstituted potato lumps. Marco took a drink but set the food aside. He didn’t know how long it had been since he last ate, but his stomach was knotted with anxiety and the thought of food passing his lips was revolting. Santorelli stood next to Marco, close enough that Marco could smell that he’d just showered. Marco kind of hadn’t planned ahead for how he’d handle Santorelli if they actually recovered Ax, but he was so shaken and out of it that this was definitely not the time.

“I hope he’s okay,” Santorelli said, his voice soft.

Marco looked up at Santorelli whose expression was tender, vulnerable. Too much for Marco to deal with right then. He looked back down at Ax. “Yeah, me too.” 

Santorelli put his hand heavily on Marco’s shoulder. Marco flinched but didn’t duck out. “That faceoff with The One was stupid, you know.”

Marco managed to almost smile. “I know; I expected it to be at least as hard as it was in _Return of the Jedi._ The Force was strong with me, I guess.”

“I mean that he could have killed you so easily,” Santorelli said gently. 

“Oh. Well, guess I lived to die another day,” Marco said, too tired to muster any false bravado.

Santorelli squeezed Marco’s shoulder, but he didn’t say anything else. Marco was relieved because whatever awkward shit was going on between them needed to wait. 

After a while, Marco looked up at Santorelli, feeling too emotionally drained to be emotionally supported. “Sarge, could you go check on Menderash? He was blacking out a few hours ago and someone should go make sure he hasn’t kicked his last puppy.”

“I don’t mind, but if he’s locked his quarters, only Jake can get in,” Santorelli pointed out.

Marco rolled his eyes. “Nine out of ten chance Jake’s password is still ‘J.’ Try that first.” They exchanged grins and Santorelli left.

More time passed before Tobias finally came to visit Ax, perching on the back of a chair across from Marco. They had a brief staring match, neither of them saying anything. Tobias shifted his gaze to Ax and Marco did the same. Tobias didn’t say a word the whole time he was there, and Marco managed not to say the only thing he wanted to, which was “I told you so,” so it was a win all around. 

Tobias stayed until they felt the ship shift out of Z-space, then he flew away, presumably to check what was going on. After a few minutes, Jeanne announced over the intercom, “We’re docking with the Andalite medical ship.” 

Eventually Marco heard the propulsion systems power down and felt a weird lurch as the ship moved in a way Marco had never felt before, even when he drove it. He could guess they were being tractored into place by the Andalite ship. He heard more sounds -- scraping, hissing, suction. 

Marco let go of Ax’s hand and leaned forward to press a palm into his unresponsive cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” Then he backed away, giving Ax a more appropriate amount of space. 

It wasn’t long before their little infirmary was full of Andalite medical staff, taking vitals, transferring Ax to the Andalite version of a stretcher, and clearly only talking to each other in private thought-speak. Marco pressed himself into a corner, trying to stay out of the way, but also trying to get a good view of what they were doing. The stretcher had slots for Ax’s legs and tail -- Marco remembered seeing something like it on the _Ascalin_ , although it seemed like a lifetime ago.

One of the Andalites turned a stalk eye toward Marco. ‹Your crew has already evacuated to our ship. We will be towing this… vessel back to homeworld. Please join your comrades.›

“I’m not leaving Prince Aximili, and if you have a problem with it, you can try to make me. But I’m Marco.” Marco wasn’t sure if he was as much a household name on Andalite as Earth, but it seemed to work, because the Andalites didn’t acknowledge him again until they were ready to move Ax.

‹Please follow at a safe distance and stay out of the way,› said the same Andalite.

Marco did as he was told and followed a few feet behind the last Andalite in their little procession. The medical vessel was attached to the _Rachel_ with force fields. Marco was a little wary of following the Andalites out onto an invisible bridge, even as he watched them float Ax’s stretcher safely to the other side. He supposed that if he was going to die that day (or however long it had been, he had no idea), he already would have, and stepped into the void. The force field held him, of course, and he continued to follow the medical team onto their ship, through a decontamination field and down spacious, rounded, grassy halls to their own much more extensive infirmary. 

Marco watched from the far side of the rounded room as the Andalite doctors ran more tests, took readings, studied holographic displays in the wall, and used tools that looked like more elegant, Andalite-y _Star Trek_ hyposprays and tricorders. Still, Ax didn’t stir, although for all Marco knew, they weren’t trying to revive him and were still working on stabilizing him.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Marco asked one of the passing doctors.

The Andalite glared down at him. ‹Please let us work without interruption, human.›

Marco had to push down his “do you know who I am” knee jerk response, but he hung back and didn’t ask any more questions.

Eventually most of the medical staff left, leaving only one doctor in the room with Marco. This doctor had one stalk eye trained on Marco as she worked. ‹Why are you here instead of your prince?›

Marco wasn’t sure how to answer that question, but luckily for him, Jake entered mere moments later, pushing along a floating platform. 

“Here he is,” Marco said to the doctor, waving toward Jake. “I’m so important my captain is running errands for me, see?”

Jake gave the platform a shove, and it floated over to Marco, bouncing lightly off his hip when his reflexes were too slow to stop it. Marco was exhausted. It was honestly ridiculous he’d threatened to fight any Andalites, even a medical team who probably weren’t combat specialists.

“They don’t have chairs,” Jake explained. “This is a platform for resting injured limbs on, and I guess it’s the best we’ve got. I thought you might appreciate it if you’re just gonna stay here until we get there. It’s going to take two days, by the way. I recommend a shower.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Marco said snidely. But he immediately put a hand on either side of the platform and hopped up on it. It gave a little, like a hammock, but supported his weight and seemed solid, despite the fact that it was levitating. 

Jake rolled his eyes and turned to the Andalite doctor. “How is he?”

‹All systems are stable, though his neural oscillations are erratic. We have tried stimulants and various hormone combinations to rouse him, but as you can see, these attempts were unsuccessful. We don’t want to tax his body any more, so we will hold off further treatment until we reach the hospital on homeworld, Prince.›

Jake shook his head and mouthed “prince.” He nodded at the doctor. “Thanks for your report.”

“They wouldn’t tell me shit,” Marco grumbled.

Jake shrugged. “Obviously they can tell you’re no prince, Marco.” His slow, reserved smile spread up almost all the way to his eyes. He added, some worry coloring his voice, “You know, you aren’t helping anyone, watching over him like this. It’d be better if you just waited it out like the rest of us.”

“I’m gonna be here when he wakes up,” Marco insisted. 

Jake nodded and left. Eventually the doctor left, too. Marco stared at Ax. Now that Marco was sitting, their faces were almost at the same level. Marco didn’t dare touch him while other Andalites were around, but he did pull his platform up close to Ax’s gurney so he could fold his arms on the side of it and rest his head next to him.


	8. Chapter 8

_September 2002  
3970.3.58_

Ax’s face fell into an expression of utter despair, so animatedly that Marco couldn’t help but bury his nose into Ax’s chest and giggle.

“Marco, it isn’t funny!” Ax objected. He puffed his cheeks out in frustration, causing Marco to just laugh more.

Marco reached up and put a hand on Ax’s cheek, and the distraction caused Ax’s annoyed expression to literally deflate. “I’ve _got it_ , Ax, I’m messing it up on purpose to annoy you. You just don’t appreciate how funny I am.”

“It is an important ritual, and I wish you would take it seriously,” Ax sniffed, but his eyelids lowered peacefully as Marco rubbed his thumb into Ax’s cheekbone.

They were snuggling on the couch at the Santa Barbara house, Ax lying on his back and Marco on top of him, belly to belly. They were bathed in the warm light of sunset glowing through the floor to ceiling wall of windows. Ax’s face was smeared with cinnamon sugar, and there were still three cinnamon buns left, resting on a plate on the coffee table across from them. Ax attempted to lean over to grab another, but Marco shifted his weight higher so that Ax couldn’t move, grinning malevolently. 

Ax frowned. “Why are you tormenting me?”

“Who else is gonna put you in your place, now that you’re a prince?” Marco asked.

“And where is my place?” Ax asked, his voice lightly tinged with arrogance.

“Under me.” Marco wound his hand into the collar of Ax’s t-shirt and pulled, bringing Ax’s face down to his own. Marco kissed him, and Ax reciprocated eagerly, encouraging Marco to further tighten his grip on Ax’s shirt and push him down into the couch.

Eventually they parted, and Marco pushed himself up. He looked down at Ax, flushed and relenting beneath him. Marco bit his lip, considering how much time Ax had left in morph and how much time they had before his mom got home. Before Marco could make a move, Ax nudged him up with his shoulder and scrabbled for another cinnamon bun.

Ax scooted back up to rest his elbow on the arm of the couch. Marco had to resituate himself between Ax’s legs while Ax blissfully licked the icing off his bun.

“I feel,” Ax said between bites, holding masticated pastry in his cheeks like a hamster, “that if I do not dispute that my ‘place’ is with you -- either under or over and both literally and figuratively…” He swallowed. “Then you owe it to me to learn at least one Andalite ritual.”

“Oh?” Marco said, sitting up and wiping cinnamon sugar off the side of his own mouth. “I _owe_ it to you? And what do I get?”

Ax gave Marco a slightly prickly look, but it was undermined by the half-eaten bun hanging out of his mouth. “I take part in human culture with you constantly,” Ax said, slightly muffled.

“You _like_ human culture,” Marco said. “Anyway, I can’t participate in Andalite culture.”

“I want you to learn the ritual so you can come with me,” Ax pouted. He shoved the last bites of bun into his mouth with one finger then reached for another.

“It’s not exactly a trip to Paris, Ax,” Marco said. He tried to sound casual, but he always got edgy when Ax talked about taking him to Andalite. It seemed less and less like something they were talking about in theory, to the point that Marco was worried if he kept playing along when Ax proposed it, he’d really make him do it.

“Obviously it is not. But you will have time off from your show in a couple months.”

Marco frowned. He was definitely serious this time. “You _really_ want to take me to Andalite and show me to your parents?”

“Have I said anything to indicate this is a facetious proposition? I have met your parents countless times. That is why I’m teaching you this ritual.”

“Your _Andalite_ parents, Ax,” Marco said.

“Yes, they are not Skrit-Na,” Ax replied disdainfully. “I cannot guarantee my parents will _like_ you, but Eva did not like me either. Actually, we are similar, in that our fathers are more easygoing.”

“Yeah, my dad is _real_ easygoing,” Marco said darkly.

“He will forgive you,” Ax assured, as if it were simple and clear. “Yes, my parents are Andalites, but in case you haven’t gathered, they aren’t exactly conventional. If anything, they are getting what they deserve for raising me with poor moral character.” Ax, his hands covered in cinnamon goo, unraveled the spiral of his cinnamon bun to lick the sugar off the inside. 

Marco snorted. “Yeah, _both_ their kids ended up on the sexy alien train. They must’ve done _something_ wrong.”

Ax chewed thoughtfully, frowning. “I wish we could find Tobias. I would take him as well.”

Marco pursed his lips. He hadn’t meant to upset Ax. 

“Fine,” Marco said. “Here, I know it. ‘I entreat upon your family my sincere hope for approval. It is my humble request you judge me worthy. I could be granted no greater honor than to drink from your stream alongside you.’”

Ax arched an eyebrow and quoted seriously, “‘And what strengths do you bring to my family?’”

“Hmm.” Marco lay his head on Ax’s chest. “Well, I’m very cute.”

Ax sighed and sucked the cinnamon sugar glaze off each of his fingertips. Still slightly sticky, he locked his hands together at the base of Marco’s spine. “I suppose you will come up with better examples of your strengths in the meantime.”

Marco scooted back up and grabbed the bottom edge of Ax’s shirt. Ax lifted his arms so Marco could pull it off. Marco just shook his head, amused by his eagerness, and used Ax’s shirt to wipe the residual goo off Ax’s mouth. Ax smiled at Marco who grinned back.

“I wouldn’t mind demonstrating my strengths, if you’ve got time,” Marco insinuated.

“Me, busy? It is not as if I have anything better to do.” Ax craned his neck back with exaggerated importance. 

Marco, typically, took advantage of the opening and grazed his teeth under Ax’s jaw. Ax wriggled under Marco and flinched away, laughing. This just encouraged Marco, and he kept nibbling at Ax’s neck until his laughter stilled and he settled in. Ax’s hands trailed down to the skin peeking out from under the edge of Marco’s shirt.

From the entryway on the other side of the room, Marco heard the door handle click. He sighed and put his head down on Ax’s chest, which was growing hot with sudden embarrassment.

Eva entered the living room and gasped, then made a disgusted sound and shielded her eyes on the way to the kitchen. “Why do you make out on the couch when you know I’m coming home?” she shouted, putting her keys and purse down loudly.

“As if I never caught you making out on the couch!” Marco shouted back, Ax groaning and on fire underneath him.

“How dare you -- I have _class_. That was _always Edriss_. You’re disowned.” Eva, hand still shielding her eyes, grabbed the remote control and sank into the armchair across from them. She opened a bag of popcorn with her teeth and turned the TV on in one motion. “Either go to one of your five bedrooms or sit an arm’s length apart, boys, it’s the season finale of _The West Wing_.”

“Boring, Mom,” Marco whined but scrambled to the far side of the couch to grab some of her popcorn.

Eva rolled her eyes. “Oh, right, I’m sorry, not everyone can have your _impeccable taste_.”

They both watched as Ax grabbed his last cinnamon bun and shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once, glowing contentedly.

“You know, Mom, that’s fair.”

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.61_

Santorelli told Marco they were in the biggest city on Andalite -- “It’s actually not what I expected,” he said. “Kind of disappointing.” 

Ax was being cared for in the most advanced hospital in the galaxy, if the Andalites were to be believed regarding their own technological superiority. (In short, who knew? They said they had the best of everything, but they didn’t even have TV.) Marco hadn’t left Ax’s room since he’d dragged himself from the hospital’s docking bay, to the emergency triage unit, and finally to Ax’s private unit. 

From what Marco could tell, the hospital was a spiral made up of the tubular main hall. Each loop was a different specialty ward, and the various offices and patient units were like bubbles that protruded off the main structure. The room was big and open and rounded, like all Andalite architecture. He could see some of the city out the ovular window that took up most of the far wall, but most of what he saw was gold sky, teal grass, and more Andalites than he’d ever seen milling around below.

Jake and Santorelli brought Marco food in shifts from a nearby cafe that catered to Andalites in human morph. Santorelli raved about the fresh croissants and food that wasn’t dried and filled with preservatives. The man appreciated a pastry. But Marco ate perfunctorily -- everything tasted like cotton, anyway. 

Tobias visited regularly at first, although it was hard to say how regularly because Andalite days were torturously long; something like 60 hours, according to Jeanne. Marco had completely lost all concept of time and was reeling with the most heinous case of jetlag he’d ever had. It was at least twice as bad as visiting Australia. Tobias checked on Ax at least a couple times a day, but he didn’t hang around. After a while, he stopped checking in, maybe tired of setting himself up for disappointment. He did seem about three shades less angry and resentful. Marco thought he was probably appreciating being back under an open sky, even an alien one. 

There hadn’t been any change in Ax’s condition. Marco had expected the Andalites would know what to do, so when he didn’t wake up after the first day, Marco had to reassess how anxious and worried he could possibly get. He thought he was at max already, but he was apparently full of surprises. That _was_ the first rule of fame -- you gotta keep them guessing. That adage apparently included himself, and applied to “how many panic attacks can you have in a single Andalite day?” He kept beating his own record the longer Ax remained unconscious.

Marco was at least thankful for the weird Andalite shower in Ax’s room that was like a mix between a fancy fountain and a car wash. The water was super hot, smelled something like sage, and the pressure could be adjusted from “fine mist” to “fire hose.” He could agree Andalites had humans beat at shower technology, anyway. The shower was the only break Marco let himself have in his vigil. He could tell Jake was getting close to forcing him to check into the hotel for visiting off-worlders that everyone but Tobias was staying in. Marco hoped Jake was ready to face his wrath when he decided to initiate that conversation.

The sky outside was dark red with the coming evening, and the heat coming in through the huge circular window next to Marco was making him warm and groggy.

Marco had almost nodded off when he heard forceful hooves cross from the grassy main hall onto the semi-opaque glass (or whatever Andalite buildings were made of) floor of the hospital room. He’d gotten good at ignoring visitors -- doctors with their medical tools checked in throughout the day, and other Andalites had come in to pay their respects or gawk or verify that Prince Aximili had really been rescued. So Marco almost didn’t look up at Ax’s latest visitor.

When he did, he shot up straight and immediately felt his hands break into a clammy sweat. She was small and nimble -- honestly, her stature and frame reminded Marco of Ax when he’d been a young teen -- but she stomped in with a commanding air that was more palpable than the arrogant self-assurance Marco had seen from his few encounters with War-Princes. 

She had dark indigo, almost black fur that was much shorter than most Andalites’, like she’d been given an Andalite buzz cut. Initially Marco thought she had intricately patterned fur like Menderash had before he became human, but upon closer inspection, he could see that the swirling pattern was actually Andalite script. Words were delicately seared into her cropped fur, flowing in waves and spirals all over her body. Each long phrase was divided into three sections, and Marco could discern from that pattern that she was covered in names.

Marco reluctantly looked up at her face and was hit with a shock of comprehension. Along her cheek, Marco recognized the familiar curves of the only Andalite script he could read, because it was permanently emblazoned on his own body: _Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill_. 

He tried not to panic as her eyes -- not quite the eyes of a stranger -- pinned him to his chair. She and Ax didn’t share many physical similarities, but her eyes were the same shape and the same brilliantly shifting emerald green as his. Or, his were the same as hers.

‹It's _you_ , isn't it?› Forlay-Esgarrouth-Maheen asked, accusatory. ‹Aximili's human?›

“Is that what my visa says? That's a typo. It should say Marco Lisiewicz Castillo. But I get how ‘Aximili's human’ is easier. Polish names, you know? Alternately, just Marco is usually enough. I’m basically Madonna.”

‹Shut up,› she commanded.

Marco snapped his jaw shut with an audible click and looked back down at Ax, wishing he knew what Ax would want him to do in this situation. He looked back up at Ax’s fierce mother and cursed Ax for ever being scared of Eva. 

“What makes you think… that Ax even _has_ a human?” Marco stammered.

‹You are attempting to be duplicitous. How droll. And very boring.› She swept her tail back and forth, whipping her small blade impatiently. Marco was honestly nervous that it would end up in his throat if he didn’t do something to charm her.

“There’s no way he told you,” Marco said, too discomposed to think of anything clever.

‹You have been by his side since the extraction mission. Your friends have come and gone, but you stay. He anticipated trips to Earth for weeks. He’s had no hint of a personal life. He was sullen when he accepted reassignment, despite the prestige of the mission.› Forlay laid all the evidence out as if presenting a case. ‹He didn’t have to tell me. But you just did, so thank you. I hate being patronized.›

“Must be hard living among Andalites if you don’t want to be patronized,” Marco commented, then inhaled sharply. _Why_ couldn’t Marco control himself?

Forlay leveled her fierce gaze at him. ‹Audacious human.› Marco thought he heard a hint of appreciation in her thought-speak, but that was probably wishful thinking.

“It’s one of my major assets, my audacity. I have it insured for almost as much as the hair,” Marco said.

Forlay squinted at him. ‹You are very annoying. Couldn’t Aximili do better?›

Marco snorted loudly. Forlay stepped backward as if she was afraid his human face might explode. “Everyone else was taken,” Marco explained facetiously.

‹I see,› Forlay commented. ‹Aximili always did take the leftovers.›

“Was that… a joke?” Marco asked. “Because he really does. It’s such a disappointment to wake up thinking you have half a steak waiting for you in the fridge for brunch, then you go to find your boyfriend has violated the Geneva Conventions and eaten both his and your leftovers because he gets up before noon.”

Forlay was staring at Marco as if he’d done something heinous in front of her.

“Oh, I’m supposed to be discreet on Andalite. Right. Sorry.”

‹Did Aximili ever tell you I was disappointed in him as a child? It is coming back to me.›

Marco laughed nervously, his heart still racing. He looked down at Ax, mentally begging him to wake up.

~

Marco shot up in his chair and grasped at his chest. His sudden motion startled Forlay, who had been doing the creepy Andalite half-sleep with her stalk eyes still all active. The ambient glow in Ax’s room had been lowered for night time, but the three moons in the sky outside were bright enough to see comfortably. Maybe Andalites were annoyingly optimistic because it was bright out all the time, even at night. Marco kind of hated it.

‹What?› Forlay said icily.

Marco stood up over Ax’s unchanged, steadily breathing body. Marco couldn’t tell Forlay that he’d _felt something_. It had been… days, Marco wasn’t sure how many, and this was the first time Marco felt anything. 

“He -- he moved,” Marco lied.

Forlay squinted her main eyes down at Ax. ‹I would have noticed.›

Marco glanced up at her, deciding he had to abandon his sense of self-preservation to touch her son in front of her. Marco dug his fingers into the fur at the hollow of Ax’s neck and shoulder, feeling like his stomach was going to leap out of his throat. He still had no idea how to focus through their bond to communicate anything, but he knew he’d _felt something_.

‹What are you doing?› Forlay said, her thought-speak a warning. 

Marco glanced up at the motion of her tail, but he focused back down on Ax. She was just flicking her tail blade in annoyance. Maybe if she got angry enough to murder him, his distress would get through to Ax. The best hospital on Andalite was probably an ideal place to be the victim of a murder attempt, at least.

Marco didn’t know how to focus or what to focus on, so he repeated Ax’s name in his head over and over like he was trying to thought-speak out of morph. Marco was starting to think maybe he’d imagined it and was almost ready to settle back in with his disappointment when a shudder ran through Ax’s fur. Forlay practically pounced forward and gripped the edge of Ax’s hospital bed like she was clinging to a lifeline.

“Go get a doctor,” Marco whispered, watching Ax’s fur shiver like he had an itch.

‹ _You_ get a doctor, I am his mother,› Forlay said haughtily.

“I’ve been here _longer_ , I’m not leaving,” Marco insisted.

Marco’s breath caught in his throat as Ax’s closed eyes squinched up and the top of his nose slits wrinkled. One of his stalk eyes wobbled open and swept an unsteady semicircle between them. Ax groaned in his head, and Marco covered his mouth with his hands. Forlay leaned so far forward her stalk eyes almost grazed Marco’s forehead. 

‹Give him space,› she demanded.

“You’re the one glowering over him like a Sith lord,” Marco said, his words muffled by his hands and the fact that he felt like he was choking and refused to cry in front of the most formidable Andalite he’d ever met.

‹Marco. And Mother,› Ax said, his thought-speak weak. ‹Another nightmare.›

Marco laughed and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to take Ax’s face in his hands. That would be inappropriate for a lot of reasons, mostly because he could graphically picture how Forlay would execute him, but also because he and Ax had been broken up for basically a full year. Marco’s stomach lurched. Someone was going to have to explain to Ax what had happened.

‹Aximili-kala, you’re in the medical complex in Theyfla.› Forlay’s voice was flat, but that was the gentlest Marco had heard her speak.

Ax’s eyes all jerked open and focused on Marco. ‹Did you do the ritual?›

Marco blinked and shook his head. “What?”

Ax looked away and grimaced as he attempted to shift his body. ‹Why can’t you ever make a good first impression?›

“Oh my god Ax, like I even had a chance, and like I’d risk my life trying to appeal to your mom without you even conscious. Are you delirious?”

‹Aximili, did you really attempt to teach this human the proving ritual?› Forlay said, exasperated. ‹I have underestimated how objectionable you really have become.› Marco wasn’t sure, but the way she said it almost sounded affectionate.

Ax’s stalk eyes turned toward Forlay. ‹Mother. You have my name on your face.›

‹It’s a protest statement, Aximili.›

‹And my whole crew on your body?› Ax sounded pained. Marco had a feeling it wasn’t physical pain, but more like the pain he felt when Peter told dad jokes to strangers.

‹We lost everyone on the _Intrepid_ , and neither the Electorate nor high command did anything! It is a crime to let such a loss of life go as if it is nothing, when we are allegedly not even at war.› Forlay’s flank twitched. Marco could tell if her fur was the normal length, it would be bristling.

Ax shut his eyes. ‹Everyone?› 

Ax’s grief washed over Marco like a rising tide. Marco felt a crushing weight in his stomach like someone was trying to pull it out through his feet. His lungs constricted. Marco wobbled and put his hands on the edge of Ax’s bed for support. 

Marco took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Menderash is alive,” he managed. “He organized your rescue mission.”

Ax sighed. ‹A small mercy. But I am grateful.›

‹I have forwarded you the contact information for the families of your crew. You can begin the rituals of solace when you are ready,› Forlay said, hooking the sharp edge of her small tail blade into the edge of Ax’s own blade.

‹Thank you, Mother,› Ax said. 

He winced and shifted again, lifting the muscular base of his tail to use as a counterweight to reposition his body. He managed to get his humanoid torso upright but settled his legs back into the formed slots on the table. His stalk eyes were becoming more active, more like normal. His main eyes hadn’t left Marco.

“Do you know what happened?” Marco asked.

‹I know I was incorporated into the system of a… a creature called The One,› Ax said. He seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. ‹Once, when I was a child, I nearly drowned. It felt like that the entire time. I have been infested by a Yeerk. This was more. It is not just a parasite. It is a collector of bodies.›

“Should we… should we do something about it?” Marco asked. “We didn’t kill it; we just rescued you.”

‹Rescued me. Of course,› Ax said, his thought-speak bitter at the edges.

Marco’s stomach twisted, and he couldn’t tell whose emotions he was feeling. He’d anticipated that Ax would have mixed feelings about having survived when the rest of his crew had been slaughtered. 

Finally, Ax stated, ‹I do not know if we have the capabilities to eliminate The One. As long as it is content with its pathetic cadre of Yeerk slaves, I believe we should leave it alone. There will not be another situation that renders it as vulnerable as it was when you salvaged me.›

Marco was more than willing to accept that. Dealing with whatever The One was was above his pay grade. And he got paid a lot.

“It wasn’t just me who ‘salvaged’ you. Besides Menderash, Jake and Tobias are here, too. And a couple extras,” Marco said.

For the first time since he regained consciousness, Ax smiled. ‹I am glad both of them are here. It will be good to see them again.›

Forlay managed to pull herself away from Ax’s side to move to the main holographic display in his room. ‹I am summoning a doctor,› she informed them. ‹Marco, compose yourself in front of other Andalites. You have already been too obvious.›

Marco sat back down on the mag-lev chair he’d basically lived in since he got to Andalite. He toed himself back to the curve of the wall, the window behind him. 

‹How long have you been here?› Ax asked.

“I dunno,” Marco admitted. 

‹You have both been here for five days. Three of which, I have also been here,› Forlay said. ‹I was told he hasn’t left your side since you were recovered. And he was not scared away by my presence. He has, however, proven moderately annoying.›

Marco’s neck and face grew hot, and still Ax didn’t take his main eyes off him. In what Marco could tell was private thought-speak, Ax said, ‹I didn’t think you were so sentimental.›

Marco frowned and crossed his arms, unable to answer in front of Forlay. _Did you really think I was going to leave you to die in space?_ Marco thought, putting his face in his hand because his old headache was starting to flare up.

Ax leaned forward, surprised. ‹I wasn’t sure, after the way we parted. Although I did not anticipate ‘rescue’ at all.›

Marco put his head back up, squinting at Ax. _Did you hear that?_ he tried to think clearly at Ax and push away the other thoughts bouncing around. Like thought-speak. Out of morph.

‹Yes,› Ax answered. The delicate clack of hooves crossed from the soft grass of the main hall into Ax’s room. Ax turned toward the doctor as she entered. ‹We will discuss it later,› Ax said to him.

The doctors were all understandably skittish around Forlay and had treated Ax like a VIP since they got there. Marco sensed it had been a major frustration and embarrassment for them that they hadn’t been able to resuscitate him. He anticipated they would play up their role in Ax’s sudden unexplained recovery, even though Marco saw the signs that this doctor had just woken up herself. 

Marco looked out the window while the doctor ran tests. Even though it was relatively bright out with three moons equally spaced and illuminating the sky, there were few Andalites walking about the city below. There wasn’t much to differentiate the walking paths from anything else, because it seemed like everything was equally grassy to Marco. In the dark, Marco could see that the paths were lined with bioluminescent trees that looked like street lamps, with each branch terminating in glowy fleshy bulbs.

‹Your systems seem to be returning to full functional capacity,› said the doctor. ‹Your neural oscillations are still not conforming to predicted output, but the variations don’t seem indicative of any damage. We would like to keep you for observation until morning, at least.›

‹It sounds like I am fine,› Ax said.

‹Perhaps, but you have been unconscious and unresponsive for six days, so caution is recommended --› 

Ax slid his front hooves down off the hospital bed, and they clicked loudly against the glasslike floor. Forlay brushed past the doctor to move to the other side of Ax’s bed in case he needed help getting down. He bunched up his hindquarters and gingerly stepped down off the bed completely. His balance was sure, and he swept his tail out behind him.

‹I am fine,› Ax insisted. The doctor looked offended. Forlay looked impatient. ‹Mother, I have never seen you stay in a medical facility longer than was required. I will not hear it.›

‹Oh no. I agree with you. Let’s vacate this glass coffin,› Forlay agreed.

‹Prince, if I could --› the doctor protested.

‹Bring up the discharge authorization, doctor,› Forlay commanded, clearly used to leaving against medical advice.

The doctor sighed and brought up a new holographic interface on the handheld projector she was working on. ‹State your name, Prince.›

‹Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill.›

‹I am forwarding you the record of your stay and the liability agreement for your unauthorized departure,› the doctor said flatly.

‹Thank you,› Ax said. He and Forlay made their way toward the door. Ax trained a stalk eye on Marco. ‹Marco, are you coming?›

Marco had actually sort of forgotten he was there, as though he’d been observing from somewhere outside himself. He was out of his chair, pressing his hands into his lower back and stretching, then scrambled to catch up to Ax and Forlay. He waved at the doctor as he passed her, and she snorted dismissively.

‹Did Father decide to stay home?› Ax asked as they walked down the clear main spiral of the hospital. They only passed a few Andalites on their way down to ground level, but those they did shrank away from the famous prince and his equally famous rebel mother. Marco felt like he needed to catch his breath and fan himself.

‹He had no choice,› Forlay said. ‹Your unexpected return and some related events have thrown my network stream into chaos and someone had to manage the data throughput. When we are in private, we need to talk.›

Marco’s heart started beating in his throat. “Don’t you guys get that that is literally the worst phrase in the universe? Why can’t you just hold it in?” 

‹Your human is loud,› Forlay disdained.

‹Don’t call him ‘my human,’ Mother. I do not own him,› Ax said. ‹Humans are almost our equals.›

“Ax. You were doing so well,” Marco objected half-heartedly.

They exited the hospital through a thought-speak controlled panel on the lowest level that opened the glass in front of them in an arc up from the ground. The two Andalites picked up their pace a bit. Marco had to almost jog to keep up and still fell a bit behind.

Marco hadn’t been outside since they arrived on Andalite and didn’t mind that he was lagging, because it gave him an opportunity to absorb the planet, or at least the largest city, Theyfla. Santorelli said it wasn’t much, and he wasn’t lying. At night, with the tree lights lit, Marco could see where the roads were. They were all curved, as was typical of Andalites. 

The hospital was the largest structure nearby, and it was surrounded by a few other structures, though none as intricately designed. There were a few domes scattered around, and one dome that was topped with increasingly smaller levels of squashed spheres that looked like lilac-tinted glass. Off in the distance, Marco thought he could see a bit more of a concentration of structures, and beyond that, the ocean rose over the horizon. Nothing looked residential, as far as Marco could tell.

He looked up, feeling lightheaded from his sudden sharp increase in activity and maybe something about the atmosphere. It was cool at night -- he wasn’t sure about during the day and wouldn’t get a chance to know for at least eight more hours, if he was figuring the time correctly. The air had a pleasant, fresh scent, not unlike Andalites themselves, or at least Ax. Marco wasn’t about to get close enough to smell Forlay. 

Marco caught up to the two Andalites, who were standing next to a water fixture. He would have called it a fountain on Earth, but it was clearly engineered to look like part of the natural landscape, if it wasn’t also shooting water in figure eight patterns ranging from as tall as Marco to twice that. Ax had his hoof in the water -- he must have been parched after six days.

Marco was breathing heavily, like he was out of shape, and briefly wondered if he was suffocating on alien air.

‹Try not to hyperventilate,› Ax advised. ‹Homeworld’s atmosphere is less dense, but more oxygen-rich than Earth’s, and if you continue to breathe like that, you may experience hyperoxic effects.›

Marco started taking measured breaths, like he would if he managed to actually catch a panic attack coming on instead of the usual -- getting surprised by one. After a minute, Marco’s breathing evened out and he felt less lightheaded. “Thanks for the surprisingly helpful advice,” Marco said, biting the corner of his lip.

‹Surprisingly helpful?› Ax repeated.

“Yeah,” Marco said, in a low voice. “As opposed to your usual.”

Forlay laid her ears against the sides of her head and flared her nostrils. ‹If you’re quite done with that, and _please_ spare me, as I said, we need to talk. I have bad news,› Forlay stated. ‹Menderash-Postill-Fastill was detained shortly after your arrival.›

“What?”

‹What?›

‹He attempted to pass for one of your human allies to quietly slip away, but his thought engrams were imprinted in a monitored station. He was captured before he could escape.›

‹I don’t understand. Why is he in trouble?› Ax asked.

“Yeah, the mission was authorized. Classified, but authorized,” Marco said.

‹For one, he is a voluntary _nothlit_ \--›

‹ _What_?›

“He thought he had to, to rescue you from Kelbrid space without violating the treaty,” Marco explained, his voice weak. “We couldn’t have saved Ax without him. Doesn’t that count for anything?” He stared at Forlay, wishing he could change what she was saying.

‹For another,› Forlay continued, ‹He is currently being interrogated under suspicion of espionage and unauthorized transfer of classified data.› 

Marco took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Those weren’t exactly bullshit charges.

Ax looked down at him, eyes and ears wrought with frustration. ‹Marco, do you have a plan? I am unable to involve myself in this matter.›

“Yeah,” Marco said, his eyes scanning the blood red sky. “I’m gonna get the team back together for another extraction mission.”


	9. Chapter 9

_December 1998  
3968.3.142_

Five mismatched birds of prey struggled to gain altitude in the bone-dry, stagnant air. It was cold. It wasn’t even five, but it was already getting dark. Marco’d had to blow his dad off for Monday night football and they were all going to have to listen to Ax complain about missing _Ally McBeal._

Tobias had told Ax to meet them over the state park north of the university. They were going way out of their way on a school night and it was actually, truly pointless this time. The unnecessary risk combined with the cold and the dark and the fact that his osprey pecs were on fire made Marco just a tad surly. 

‹I can’t believe you agreed to this, Jake,› Marco said.

‹Here we go.› Rachel laughed. ‹It’s not a mission unless Marco kicks it off by whining like a fussy toddler.›

‹We _all_ agreed,› Cassie said magnanimously.

‹It’s too soon to run a mission. Even a stupid one. I think I still have a fever.› Marco coughed in thought-speak to demonstrate.

‹You do not,› Rachel objected. ‹We all got the _yamphut_ and _I’m_ fine.›

‹Yeah, well, _some_ of us aren’t as brawny and robust as you. _Some_ of us need time to recuperate and pamper ourselves.› 

‹I wasn’t aware eating a whole family size bag of Doritos was pampering yourself,› Rachel said snidely.

‹Tch, it’s the very definition,› Marco said. ‹Haven’t you figured out yet that if you morph afterward, eating doesn’t count? Have you _met_ Ax?›

‹Can you guys cut it out?› Marco expected it to be Jake who stopped their bickering, but it was Tobias. He rarely told Rachel when to stop, so they must have really been getting on his nerves. ‹No one really got sick but Ax. So can you just, like, not?›

‹Yeah, Rachel, think of poor Ax,› Marco sneered.

‹Marco,› Jake warned. 

‹ _Fine_ ,› Marco said. ‹I’m bored anyway. Why aren’t we in owl morph? It’s darker than the poetry Tobias writes when he’s alone.›

‹Hey,› Tobias said. ‹I don’t write poetry; I’m a hawk.›

‹Obviously, you carve it into the sand with your beak and when the wind blows it away, you cry a single bird tear and lament the transient beauty of nature.›

‹Marco, you clearly do still have a fever,› Jake said. ‹You can go home after all.›

‹For real?› 

‹No.›

‹Ugh,› Marco said. ‹Where’s Ax? Aren’t we supposed to meet him like, here?›

‹Actually, I have been following you for several minutes. I was just moved to silence by your poetry,› Ax said dryly. ‹’The transient beauty of nature’ -- an almost Andalite sentiment. Of course, we would express it in more refined terms.›

‹Are you teasing me? How’d you sneak up on us?› Marco dipped to try to spot him, but it was too dark -- all he could make out clearly was Rachel’s big, bright bald eagle head.

‹He didn’t sneak up on me,› Tobias sniffed pretentiously.

‹In the Academy we are trained to choose our morphs based on what is most appropriate to the situation.› Ax’s tone was similarly pretentious. How had anyone been surprised that those two were related? The resemblance was uncanny. ‹Using my superior foresight, I did morph an owl.›

‹Well, aren’t _you_ a genius?› Marco chided.

‹Certainly by human standards,› Ax quipped smoothly.

‹Marco, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you missed this,› Jake said. ‹Are you ready to get started or do you still have some of that good cheer to spread around?›

‹Thanks for the invitation,› Marco said, with faux graciousness. ‹Cassie, you’re a tree-hugging, oversentimental Yeerk sympathizer, but I guess you’ve been kind of a badass lately, so I’ll give you a pass. Jake, you’re all right. There, that’s everyone.›

‹ _That’s_ a pass?› Cassie asked. ‹You only called Rachel brawny!›

‹Yeah, but have you seen those shoulders lately? Like damn, Rachel. Also if I call her psycho she’ll hit me. Which would be a problem, because, like I said, _damn_.›

‹Shut up, Marco,› Rachel, Tobias, and Jake said in unison.

‹This mission must be very dangerous, if Marco is engaged in this level of repartee,› Ax observed.

‹Oh yes,› Marco agreed, dropping his thought-speak tone down like he was telling a very sarcastic ghost story. ‹It’s very dangerous indeed. The _most_ dangerous. We’re probably not gonna make it out of this one.›

Jake sighed. ‹Tobias, Ax, you’re the eyes. Tobias, you staked out the place while we were at school today, right?›

‹Right,› Tobias confirmed. He powered up and ahead of the group. Ax followed on silent owl wings. ‹I spotted a force field while I was flying and I think the Yeerks are building a base or a Pool entrance or something.›

‹What is even in this direction that they would be interested in? It is quite remote.› Ax asked. 

‹Well, that’s what we want to find out,› Jake said. ‹It could be another resource-gathering operation like the Dapsen Lumber Company front.› Marco could swear Ax snickered in thought-speak. ‹Or they could be attempting to scout out the free Hork-Bajir colony.›

‹Do we have an infiltration plan?› Ax asked.

‹Oh, you know,› Marco said, ‹the usual insanity: morph some kind of bug, find a twig, crawl under the force field, try not to die, probably inexplicably encounter Visser Three, barely escape with our butts still attached, get home in time for a massive guilt trip, wash, rinse, repeat.›

‹Good plan,› Ax said.

They continued to fly for what seemed like hours, considering the ache in Marco’s wings, shoulders, and chest and the fact that he felt like a frozen bone-in chicken. He’d already got out all his witty banter, so if he said anything at this point, he’d just be straight up whining and Rachel would call him out for being a wuss. 

‹How much time do we have, Ax?› Jake asked.

‹Assuming you left your school and morphed immediately, you have approximately twenty-nine of your minutes and I have thirty-six of your minutes left.›

‹They’re everyone’s minutes, Ax,› Marco said, on cue.

As usual, Ax ignored him. ‹Have we almost arrived to the location of this Yeerk facility? Flying conditions tonight are not ideal.› Marco almost wanted to laugh that Ax, of all people, was the one complaining.

‹Yeah, almost there, Ax-man,› Tobias confirmed. ‹Actually, you can see better than me -- there should be a lake over these mountains. Do you see it?›

‹I see the lake, yes,› Ax said. ‹Actually, I believe I see the force field. That is odd. Force fields are usually only visible in insect morph. This appears to be a hologram.›

‹How weird,› Marco mused sarcastically. 

‹This situation is not as you described it, Tobias. Should we change our plan, Prince Jake?›

‹No, Ax-man, this is the plan,› Tobias said, already sounding a little guilty. ‹It’s a set up.›

‹It’s safe to fly into the hologram. Marco got the Chee to set it up for us so no one spots us,› Jake said.

‹You’re welcome,› Marco said, as they flew into the almost invisible iridescent bubble that obscured the trap Cassie had laid for Ax. When he penetrated the projection, Marco could see what Cassie had prepared. Along the shore of the lake were a fire pit, clothes, a cooler, a mountain of snacks, a pile of wood and sticks, and some other assorted odds and ends he assumed were for activities because Cassie was in the running for world’s best babysitter.

‹You mean this mission was a deception?› Ax asked as they landed and started to demorph. Marco thought he almost sounded hurt.

‹Well, uh,› Cassie started as she rose up from her osprey morph. She waited for her morph to finish before continuing. “I thought that since you were so sick recently it might be nice to do something all together. It’s the holiday season for humans right now. I’m sure you know because of TV.”

‹I am aware,› Ax said, back in his normal body. Marco could swear he sounded cold. Which was apt because it was chilly, with the wind blowing down the mountains and back up off the lake. Everyone was shivering and standing pretty awkwardly in the dark. Even Tobias looked uncomfortable, fluffed up on Rachel’s shoulder.

Cassie faltered. “So I talked to Tobias and he said celebrating the change in season is important to you. It’s Solstice tonight and it’s also Hanukkah for Jake and Rachel, and Christmas is later this week, so I thought it might be fun to all get together and have a bonfire.”

‹But why did you have to mislead me?› 

Marco felt that feeling rise -- that familiar sick sense of pleasure that something was going wrong for Cassie. He’d argued against this and it was blowing up in her face. She needed to learn that sometimes what she thought was the right idea, wasn’t. How could she always be so self-assured (more like sanctimonious) just because she thought something was “right” or “nice”?

Jake stepped in to defend her, of course. “Well, it’s supposed to be like a surprise party. We all planned it -- Tobias scouted the location, I came up with the fake mission, Marco got the hologram so we wouldn’t get caught, Rachel helped Cassie get everything together. So if you’re mad, don’t just be mad at Cassie.”

Ax looked stiffly at Jake. ‹I suppose I am not mad. I was just taken aback. It will be nice to have a holiday with all of you.› He looked at Cassie. ‹By the way, it is not the solstice tonight. That is tomorrow.›

Ax walked to the lake for a drink, swinging his tail low, leaving the rest of them shivering awkwardly in a circle. Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder and put her hands on her hips, causing Tobias to flare his wings to balance himself. “Well, let’s stop standing around and get this party started. Also I bought us all clothes for a reason, God.”

Cassie had prepared a bunch of candles in mason jars and lit them to serve as lamps until they got the fire going. They cast a flickering glow over the gathered teens as they swapped the articles of clothing Rachel had specifically selected for each of them. -- “No no, that flannel is for Jake, not you, Cassie. I didn’t buy you yet another flannel; I got you _girls’_ clothes. Marco, clearly those jeans are a foot too long for you. Try again.” -- When everyone was dressed like they just stepped out of _Teen Vogue_ , Cassie touched Jake’s wrist and he followed her over to the fire pit to help her light the fire and Rachel goaded Tobias until he agreed to morph human and help her find some logs or rocks suitable for seating.

And that left Marco… to go talk to Ax. Spares, as always. Marco shoved his hands into his pockets -- he was annoyed because the jeans were way tighter than any he would have picked out for himself, and he was double annoyed because he was positive he looked great in them. Stupid Rachel. He shoved his hands snugly into his pockets and strolled up casually next to Ax who seemed to be closely examining the way the lake met the curve of the landscape.

‹The _enos ermarf_ of this place is spectacular. Tobias has an eye for natural beauty. It is a family trait that I have always lacked,› Ax said quietly.

Marco looked out at the lake and how the slight breeze created gentle ripples along the surface. He looked back at Ax and saw that the reflection of the moon off the water seemed more brilliant in his eyes. “Yeah, it’s great,” he said. “Hey, I just want you to know, I thought this was a bad idea. I didn’t want to do it. I hate surprise parties.” 

It wasn't like Marco had known it would upset Ax. Truthfully, he was just hoping to have a night to just veg out on the couch and watch football with his dad and not worry about the fate of the world. But Marco _had_ made a big stink to Jake about the security risks and morphing for personal reasons and _what if some other idiots want to have a lakeside party in the middle of winter on a Monday?_ He wasn't above using that to ingratiate himself to Ax.

‹On my homeworld, the change in season is marked with a four-day vigil, then a family gathering to perform the ritual of renewal. Earth seasons change eight times faster than on homeworld. It is dizzying, honestly, that I have been here for eight seasons. And still we have made almost no progress.›

“Yep. Just fighting to keep our heads above water on the off chance your people come and save us. It’s pretty much hopeless.”

Ax looked down at Marco, his expression inscrutable. ‹Do you really fight with no hope?›

Marco crossed his arms and tilted his head away from Ax. “I guess I hope for small things. Tangible things. ‘The big win’ doesn’t seem real. But small victories… Yeah. I’ll take those.”

‹The point I was trying to make is that I have attempted to mark the change in season on Earth seven times now and each time we have had a mission or a disaster has occurred. Ironically, I nearly froze to death when I should have been observing the change to summer.›

“But at least the other times were real?” Marco concluded. Ax nodded. “Hey, look on the bright side, at least we’re not really in peril. _And_ you said you’re supposed to celebrate with a family gathering, right?” Marco spread his arms out. “Here were are.”

Ax looked surprised and then smiled. ‹Yes, here we are.›

“Looks like they’ve got the bonfire going. You wanna go see what snacks Cassie brought? I hope vegetarian marshmallows are still good for s’mores.”

‹What is a bonfire? What is a s’more?›

Marco grinned at Ax’s wide-eyed, curious expression. “Morph and come see.”

When Ax was human, they walked over to the fire where Rachel was dragging over the last bench-like log to serve as seating. She straightened and brushed her hands off on the sides of her jeans. “Nice of you to join us after all the work is done, Marco.”

“I have a sense for these things,” he replied, matching her cool tone. He looked over at Cassie and Jake, who were smiling, bathed in the warm light of the large fire they’d built together. They looked like proud fire parents. 

Tobias was sitting on another of the logs, looking flushed, squinty, and uncomfortable. Marco always forgot what he looked like until he saw him again -- so pale he looked sick, which was enhanced by the bloom of color and sheen of sweat the fire was bringing out. His scraggly blond hair was damp against his forehead. What did Rachel even see in him? He looked awkward in the fashionable clothes she'd bought for him, like he was part of a closeout sale on orphans. Tobias’ last chance before they put him to sleep -- better make him look good.

No wonder he’d rather be a bird.

Cassie had brought a ton of snacks. Her dad was kind of an infamous cook, but apparently he went all out for the holidays and she’d pilfered big containers of chocolate-covered pretzels, caramel corn, spiced nuts, fudge, chips, chex mix, and, somehow, mini cinnamon buns, which she gave to Ax like a peace offering with a guilty look on her face. Ax seemed overwhelmed by the fact that humans celebrated holidays with a giant fire, and in human morph, he was characteristically easily distracted. It seemed like he was over being annoyed.

They all snacked and tried to teach Ax some party games. Of course, Marco got stuck on a team with Ax, and of course they kept losing. Ax didn’t seem to understand the point of charades, was obviously terrible at 20 Questions, but was alarmingly good at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. They tried to explain the rules of Wink Murder, but that startled Ax and he refused to play. 

Cassie got out a pot, poured a couple bottles of water into it, and handed everyone mismatched mugs. Marco’s said “You’re Going to Have a Great Day!” He looked over at Ax’s, which said “World’s Best Vet.” Even her family’s coffee mugs were unrelentingly saccharine. It made Marco want to get her one for Christmas that said something like “Everything Dies.”

Cassie handed out hot cocoa packets to everyone while she waited on the water to boil. Ax immediately ripped his open and dipped it back into his mouth as if it were a pack of pop rocks. Marco Spidey-sense started tingling and he edged away, staring as Ax worked his jaw, his lips puckered and edged with chocolate. Finally Ax burst out coughing, sending up a fine brown cloud, and Marco jumped backward over their log and pirouetted over to Cassie, who was crouching by the snack pile.

“Ax needs another cocoa packet.” Marco held out his hand, smiling brightly. Ax was still hacking loudly behind him. “And also probably a napkin.” 

Cassie made a face that was a mix of sympathy and attempting not to laugh and handed Marco another cocoa packet and a stack of napkins. Marco went back over to Ax, who was doubled over, his back still intermittently heaving with silent coughs.

“I got you some napkins.” Marco reached them toward Ax. Ax looked up and Marco recoiled, grimacing and squeezing his eyes shut. He turned to the next log over, where Rachel was lying on her back, her long legs crossed casually, one foot on the ground and the other bouncing languidly in the air. Her head was in Tobias’ lap. Marco rolled his eyes and put a hand on his hip.

She looked up at Marco with fire in her eyes -- literally, her eyes reflected the bonfire and she looked at least five percent fiercer than usual. Tobias lifted his face, still awkward and clammy, and gave Marco and intense stare.

“Tobias, your uncle made a mess of himself.” Marco waved the napkins in Tobias’ direction.

“Is that Tobias’ problem?” Rachel asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Does _shorm_ mean nothing to you, Rachel? If Cassie was a mess… well, I guess you try.” Marco smiled charmingly when Cassie looked up from pouring hot water into Jake’s mug. She had somehow managed, against Rachel’s machinations, to end up in the flannel meant for Jake after all.

“I’m not moving, Marco,” Rachel said. 

“Sorry, Ax,” Tobias said apologetically.

Ax said, “Mnffm --” then clapped his hands over his mouth.

“Ugh,” Marco said, bending down next to Ax and shoving a few napkins into the bottom of his hands. “You could think things through once in awhile.”

Cassie came around and mixed up their hot chocolate as Marco pulled Ax’s fingers back away from his face and scrubbed at them. Marco scrunched his nose and dragged a paper towel down the corner of Ax’s mouth. Ax looked suddenly sheepish and started fidgeting. When he finished cleaning up Ax’s face, Marco leaned forward to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Ax was very still. He seemed to be holding his breath. A low wolf whistle from Rachel crawled down Marco’s spine. He was suddenly hyper aware that he was bracing himself on Ax’s knees and he pushed himself up and away from Ax, turning to glare at Rachel behind him. Of course she laughed. Tobias was staring blankly at Ax.

Marco sat back down next to Ax and grabbed his mug of hot chocolate in both hands, holding it up to his face. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Ax mimic him, having learned his lesson that hot chocolate, when performed improperly, could be dangerous indeed. Marco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting himself take in the hot steam on his face, the warmth in his hands, the crackle of the fire. For one night, they were all together just being normal kids. It was nice.

Jake came around, passing out long, thin sticks and two chocolate bars to each person. “Thanks, Dad.” Marco said.

“Don’t ruin your dinner,” Jake quipped back, without missing a beat.

Cassie guided Ax through the process of gently impaling a marshmallow on a stick and roasting it. He was so enraptured with the very concept of a blackened shell with a melty, gooey core of delicious sugar lava that he demolished most of a bag before he even got to the idea of a s’more. Cassie had prepared for this -- she’d brought four bags of marshmallows. 

It seemed like things were winding down. Cassie pushed herself up by her knees and passed out pencils and post-it notes to everyone. Even Tobias, which was kind of stupid because he hadn’t remorphed when his and Ax’s morph times had run out. She handed Marco his pencil and green post-it and Marco squinted up at her in confusion.

“Ax, would you like to do a human ritual? Well, this has actually all been a pretty traditional human teen ritual, but I think you’ll like this one,” Cassie said.

“Of course. Kor-suh. Sssuh. I am always eager to learn new things about human culture. Chur.” Ax was sucking on his fingers in an attempt to get his post-it to stop sticking to them.

“Okay, so I want everyone to write down something they wish for or want to happen in the next year. Don’t let anyone else see it. Throw it in the fire and the universe will hear your wish and maybe it’ll come true.”

Marco frowned, crumpled his note up, and shoved it in his pocket. “I’m not doing that. It’s stupid.”

“Marco…” Cassie started.

“You can’t make him.” Jake shut down whatever lecture she was about to start into.

“I like it. It is similar to many Andalite rituals. Chual. With the apparently popular human addition of fire,” Ax said.

“Have fun,” Marco said with a dismissive hand wave. 

Everyone else wrote something on their post-its, even Tobias, although Marco was almost certain he was just scribbling. Or rather, chicken-scratching. Ax kept looking up at Marco while he wrote his, like he was offended Marco wasn’t participating or something. Marco batted his eyelashes back sarcastically. When they were done writing, they each took turns somberly tossing the paper into the waning flame. Rachel did Tobias’ for him, since fire-grilled hawk wasn’t on the menu. They all watched the embers drift up into the sky as if it really meant something.

Marco was pretty sure Jake and Rachel were only humoring Cassie, but he studied Ax’s face and thought he saw some kind of weird, hopeful serenity. Andalites and rituals. Even made up ones. Silly. Ax noticed that Marco was looking at him and smiled slightly. Marco felt his neck warm that he’d been caught staring.

Jake and Tobias were tired. Rachel was restless. The party was over. Cassie put the fire out and stirred it up with a big stick. She put out all her candle lamps and everyone worked together to clean up the site and stack everything together as neatly as possible so Cassie and Rachel could deal with it more easily later. One by one, they undressed, morphed owl, and flew off into the night. Marco wasn’t sure why he hesitated.

‹Why didn’t you want to do the ritual?› Ax asked. He’d also lingered, standing beside Marco in his regular body.

Marco huffed out a breath, like a scoff that died before it lived. “Everybody knows what I want. I don’t need to write it on some stupid post-it for ‘the universe’ --” He made finger quotes. “-- to know that I want to free my mom.”

‹I see. I respect your perspective.›

Marco regarded Ax with a tilt of his head. “I know this wasn’t what you expected or wanted, but did you have fun?”

Ax smiled his alien smile. ‹I did. I think I am glad you lost your argument with Cassie. Would you like to fly home with me until we split off?›

“Typical. Cassie always wins. But sure, let’s fly.”

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.66_

Ax had a scoop somewhere outside Theyfla -- apparently his equivalent of Marco’s New York apartment. Forlay had taken so long to arrive because their family actually lived on the other side of Andalite’s single supercontinent. So far, Marco knew that Andalites hadn’t invented replicators and hadn’t invented transporters -- overall, he was unimpressed with their alleged technological superiority. 

Forlay seemed to relish the rare opportunity to send her mostly adult prince son to his room. Ax clearly resented being sidelined but accepted that as a prince, he had to have plausible deniability for this mission. Marco thought that Forlay seemed relieved that he didn’t fight them on this point. Despite being unrelenting, she, like Marco, thought Ax needed more time to recover. 

Marco wasn’t exactly in top shape either, having spent the last six Andalite days sitting in a chair, standing next to Ax, sitting in the shower, or being force fed by Jake or Santorelli. Quick math: Sixty-hour days times six -- it was a lot. But none of that mattered -- Andalite custody was probably the worst place for Menderash to be. Andalites talked a big game about peace and nature, but Marco was willing to bet their interrogation tactics weren’t soft. He knew what they did to traitors -- they took their tails. But what did _Menderash_ have left to take?

Marco didn’t know where the other Animorphs were staying. Forlay was familiar, though -- it was basically a hotel for off-worlders situated right next to the major spaceport that hugged the coast. Marco morphed osprey to follow her there, since she could run much faster than his human legs could carry him. He was surprised at what felt like an effortless takeoff, even at night. The strong breeze coming off the ocean lifted him far higher than he would have soared on Earth. Tobias must have been loving this.

Above the city, Marco could get a better feel for the scope of it -- it was bigger than it looked from the ground; things were just not as concentrated as you’d expect from human urban planning. There were several clusters of small domes and rows of what looked like large commercial scoops, some connected by networks of semi-subsurface glass tunnels. Everything was linked by winding trails -- with his osprey eyes he could see the different quality of the grass that was probably more apparent to the Andalites. But the bioluminescent trees lining the paths still helped.

The spaceport loomed huge against the harbor. The main structure was a squashed sphere that rose up into an imposing cylinder topped in a rounded spire, surrounded with hundreds of docked ships of all sizes. Marco didn’t really consider himself a spaceship nerd or anything, but the massive Dome ship that rose up almost as tall as the glass tower was awe-inspiring. He’d seen Ax’s separated Dome, and he’d seen them in space, but it was something different to see a dreadnought in person. Marco sized the compound up from afar, anticipating that the hypothetical brig where Menderash was being held might be in there somewhere. It wasn’t the most exciting prospect. 

Even the spaceport seemed to be basically abandoned, though -- Andalites apparently had curfews. Marco’s stomach metaphorically turned at the thought that that might actually be true in their strictly controlled, martial society. He studied Forlay as she ran at top speed, almost too fast for his osprey morph to follow, and saw one of her stalk eyes trained back on him. She led him almost all the way to the spaceport compound but stopped short at a building that looked like a series of glossy mushrooms stacked on top of each other. 

‹Gather your allies. Meet me back at the cascade.› That was all she said, then she disappeared back the way they came.

‹Jake? Santorelli? Jeanne? Tobias?›

No answer.

‹If anyone is awake, will you gather up and meet me outside? We have a problem.› Marco circled the building impatiently for a few minutes. ‹If Tobias isn’t there, will someone morph and give me a status?› Marco urged.

‹I’m here,› Tobias said. ‹We’re on our way out. Jake and Santorelli were sleeping.›

‹What are you doing inside? It’s great flying out here,› Marco commented.

‹Some of us have the intellectual curiosity to have actually explored the alien planet _already_ , Marco,› Tobias said snidely.

‹Yeah, and _one of us_ was there when Ax woke up. Some _shorm_ you are,› Marco said.

‹Ax is awake?› Tobias said, suddenly anxious. ‹Is he okay? What’s the problem? Can I see him?›

‹Ax seems fine. But catching up will have to wait,› Marco said. He wanted to give everyone else a chance to morph before he got them up to speed. 

Jeanne exited the lowest mushroom level with Tobias perched on her arm. She held her arm out and Tobias spread his wings, flapped hard, and gained altitude easily, just as Marco had. Tobias and Marco circled the mushroom tower like vultures, waiting for Jake and Santorelli to finish brushing each other’s hair or whatever was holding them up. 

Eventually, they joined Jeanne outside the entrance. Jake looked unusually keyed up -- good, he was prepared. Santorelli rubbed his thick stubble with both hands, and his rumpled hair flopped forward into his eyes. Marco knew Santorelli liked to keep something approximating a healthy sleep schedule (gross), so he was probably not adjusting well to the long Andalite days either.

‹Okay, guys, get wings and follow me,› Marco said impatiently. 

Marco watched Jake undergo the familiar changes to peregrine falcon. He always thought, when they were still fighting, that he’d never get used to the morphing process. But this Jake -- this shifting, contorting, increasingly less human Jake was more comfortable to Marco than the half-present Jake he’d been dealing with for the last three years. Marco wondered if Jake felt that way too. They rarely morphed without a purpose, and the one thing Jake needed was a purpose.

Next to Jake, Santorelli was already half his usual size and covered in a thick coat of white feathers. It seemed Santorelli liked to go into morphs headfirst because his head was all falcon but his feet were mostly human. In true _estreen_ fashion, Santorelli was completely bird in half the time it took Jake or Jeanne. 

Santorelli spread his wings and joined Marco and Tobias in the sky. Without Cassie around to be the animal expert, Marco had no way to know what bird he was. He was bigger than Tobias but smaller than Marco’s own osprey morph. He was almost completely white with grey flecks on his wings. Marco thought a bright white raptor morph was a little conspicuous, but it wasn’t like Santorelli had ever been subtle. And with three moons in the sky, one almost as bright as a sun it was so huge, it wasn’t like they were really operating under the cover of night anyway. 

Jeanne had become some kind of small, grey hawk about the same size as Jake’s peregrine falcon with a heavily spotted belly and red eyes. She finished her morph and looked to Jake, waiting for him to take off before she followed. With a few flaps, Marco ascended and led the others back toward the fountain.

‹Okay, what’s going on, Marco?› Jake asked.

‹Rhetorical question: Where’s Menderash?› Marco said. Marco was pretty sure Menderash was being tortured, but if he didn’t make light of it, he would freak himself out more.

Everyone else was quiet. The question was leading enough they were all probably jumping to the right conclusion. ‹We haven’t seen him since we arrived. We assumed he went home,› Jeanne said, finally, hesitantly.

‹Where _is_ Menderash?› Santorelli asked.

‹If you guessed being held in military custody and being interrogated for being a traitor and a spy, congrats! You win a one-time opportunity to bust him out,› Marco said cavalierly.

‹That’s not funny,› Jeanne said.

‹Yeah, I _know_ ,› Marco said. ‹Ax is awake, but obviously, as a prince, he can’t be in on this. We’re meeting his mom for more information.›

‹Ax’s mom?› Jake asked.

‹She’s the leader of a major resistance organization,› Tobias said, sounding distant. Marco wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t prepared to meet his Andalite grandma or if he was overwhelmed by the Menderash situation. Marco still wasn’t clear on if they were cool. He guessed as cool as either Menderash or Tobias were with anyone, probably.

‹Why don’t I know these things?› Jake said, frustrated.

‹You know Menderash was smuggling classified Andalite data,› Marco said. ‹He was part of her network.›

Marco started to descend toward the water fixture Forlay called the cascade. She stood near the edge of the water in an eerie mix of shadow and glow next to a copse of bioluminescent trees. She looked no less imperious than she had in the hospital when Marco met her. Everyone but Tobias followed Marco and landed nearby to demorph. Forlay studied each of them as they emerged. When they were fully human, Jeanne held out her arm, and Tobias landed on her shoulder.

“Guys, this is Ax’s mom, Forlay-Esgarrouth-Maheen,” Marco said. “Forlay, this is Jake, the leader. Santorelli, the heart. Jeanne, the muscle --”

“Marco, I am the brains,” Jeanne objected.

“Jeanne, _I’m_ the brains,” Marco corrected.

“You’re obviously the comic relief,” Jeanne said.

Forlay ignored them. She and Tobias were staring intensely at each other. Marco gulped. It should be Ax who introduced them. This wasn’t the right way. It couldn’t be helped.

“Uh, Forlay, Tobias. Tobias, Forlay,” Marco said hastily, his mouth dry. He added, “Tobias is the eyes.”

‹I regret the circumstances under which we are meeting,› Forlay said, and Marco wasn’t sure if she was speaking only to Tobias or to everyone. ‹I also regret that I cannot provide more tangible assistance to you. The work Menderash did for me was all under secure anonymous informant status. I have no record of having worked with him, thus I cannot provide agents. That said, he has been dedicated to both the cause and to Aximili. I trust you will do everything in your power to liberate him.›

“We will,” Jake said. “Do you know where he’s being held?”

‹Of course,› Forlay said. ‹I am very familiar with the internment facilities. He is being held in an underground complex approximately one point three solar units’ run from this location.›

“What do you mean?” Jake asked.

“It takes about forty Earth minutes for an Andalite to run there?” Jeanne clarified.

‹Allow me to show you,› Forlay said impatiently. 

Marco began to receive a clear mental picture of the area, like looking at a photorealistic map. It zoomed out, then back in on a location to the southwest of the city, in the middle of a dense forest. She continued to zoom in on the map until it was like Marco was standing in a clearing in the forest. She then showed an Andalite entering the clearing. Marco suddenly knew that a guard patrolled the area and engaged the force fields locking down the entrance every even Andalite hour. 

Marco mentally followed the Andalite down a tunnel that opened under him. The warrior stood still, like he was on an invisible elevator. At the end of the tunnel, Forlay mentally opened the compound. Marco was essentially looking at an incomplete floorplan of the facility. She wasn’t familiar with all the areas, but she highlighted the holding cells and the interrogation rooms. She emphasized the solitary confinement units -- rooms so small Marco wasn’t sure how an Andalite would fit. Marco knew the general patrol schedule and that fewer warriors would be there before morning. He knew they had a little more than six hours.

‹Was that clear?› Forlay asked. She was no longer projecting into Marco’s mind, but the impression lingered. If it was anything like the Andalite thought dumps he’d been engaging with, Marco knew he could hold the information for about two hours before it started to fade.

“Did -- did you get that location?” Jake asked, shaking his head and blinking hard.

‹I did,› Tobias said. ‹I can get us there.›

‹It is unlikely you will be able to execute this mission in complete stealth, since Menderash is no longer morph-capable. Obviously, this will not garner you any favor with the military. But by law, he should be facing court martial for espionage; no charges have been filed, and there is no documentation of his detainment,› Forlay said. ‹I believe he is being held extrajudicially by a small faction, and it will be unlikely you will face official ramifications. I have a safe house prepared for Menderash that can also accommodate your number, if needed. I have shown Tobias the location of the shelter.›

“Is there anything you haven’t thought of?” Marco asked.

‹How five humans will infiltrate an Andalite military base and safely remove a captive without getting Shredded or carved up. I assume that is _your_ specialty.› Forlay stepped forward, swishing the tip of her tail. ‹I hope to see you all again under better circumstances. I will be joining Aximili to strengthen his alibi. Fight well.›

Forlay departed in the opposite direction from the city. Marco watched her retreat until the only trace of her was the distant patter of her hooves. He could see why she was so frequently a target of military censorship and violence. She was fearless and tireless and had been fighting for longer than he could even conceive of. She reminded him intensely of his own mother. 

Jake crossed his arms and stared out over the water, his brows furrowed. “Jeanne, you said it takes forty minutes for an Andalite to run to this place?”

“If I understood her, yes,” Jeanne confirmed. 

“Time?” Jake asked.

“Approximately eighteen point three,” she said. “If we leave now, assuming our raptor morphs travel at roughly the same speed, it will be approaching twenty when we arrive, and a guard should access the entrance Forlay showed us.” Marco found it slightly annoying that Jeanne seemed to understand Andalite time so well, but at least someone did.

“Okay, let’s move out,” Jake ordered. “Marco, you working on a plan?”

Marco rubbed his hands together, then shoved them into his jean pockets. “I mean, I’m thinking about it, but right now ‘don’t die’ is as far as I’ve got.”

Tobias took off from his place on Jeanne’s shoulder and waited for the rest of them to join him. When everyone was airborne, he led them in the direction Forlay had shown them. 

‹What bug morphs do you guys have?› Marco asked Jeanne and Santorelli as they flew. 

‹Roach, fly, and flea. The classics,› Santorelli answered.

‹Okay.› Marco was running through strategies, trying not to think about how having just one Andalite on their side had been an instant death sentence for countless Controllers. How were they going to assault an Andalite military prison? 

‹Okay, we’re going in as flies. The only advantage we have is that Andalites only use morphing for stealth. They don’t expect tactical morphing, and they’re going to stay in their own bodies for combat. Sarge, is a leopard faster than an Andalite?›

‹Uh, I dunno,› Santorelli admitted. ‹It’s pretty fast.›

‹Well. I hope it is because you’re gonna be a diversion.› Marco continued to explain the bones of his plan as they flew. Jake and Jeanne made some suggestions and debated some points. Tobias was characteristically quiet. Santorelli was uncharacteristically quiet.

‹Tobias has an Andalite morph,› Jeanne pointed out. ‹Can we fight Andalite with Andalite?›

‹Tobias’ Andalite morph is _Ax_ ,› Marco said. ‹That defeats the whole point of benching him.›

They kept flying to the southwest until finally Tobias started to descend toward the line of alien trees. The forest was imposing -- the trees looked like willow trees if the leafy tendrils, instead of falling in a veil around the tree, curled up and out in a tangle of spirals. A jungle of fine, sharp corkscrews. There were thousands, maybe millions of the same type of tree in the sprawling, dense forest. They were lucky they had Tobias because he was able to lead them through the treacherous maze of branches. Marco still watched Santorelli and Jake’s wings bang into clumps of leaves and felt sharp lashes as he did it too. Jeanne was almost as acrobatic as Tobias, weaving in and out of the foliage like she’d been a bird her whole life. Was there anything Jeanne wasn’t annoyingly good at?

Tobias led them straight (more or less) to the clearing Forlay showed them. The entrance to the underground facility was completely camouflaged, probably by a hologram. Tobias landed in the dense part of one of the trees. 

‹Everyone in their own tree, hide in the thick part,› Jake said. ‹Time, Jeanne?›

‹I can only estimate,› she said hesitantly. ‹I think it’s about nineteen point five.›

‹Which means?› Jake asked.

‹We have approximately fifteen Earth-minutes until the next patrol. If I’m right,› she said.

‹Okay. While we have time, is everyone comfortable to morph here?› Jake said.

‹In the _tree_?› Santorelli objected.

‹What’s the problem?› Jake asked.

Santorelli hesitated. ‹No problem, sir.›

‹He’s scared of heights,› Jeanne said dismissively. ‹He’ll be fine.› To Santorelli, she said, ‹You’re an _estreen_ , you will be done in two minutes.›

‹Two _treacherous_ minutes,› he grumbled.

Marco also wasn’t enthused about morphing in a tree, but he dug his talons into the branch and braced his wings against the trunk, hoping to set his human body up to not fall. Marco started demorphing, and obviously his feet morphed first because that was the worst way it could happen. He started to wobble and held his breath, trying to get a good grip on the tree trunk as soon as he had hands. 

As soon as he was human, he started toward fly. Again the first things to go were his hands -- they withered away into fine, hairy spikes. Marco scrabbled at the tree, hoping the gripping hooks at the ends of his fly legs would hold him in place while he shrank rapidly. But of course his deformed, misshapen body pitched itself sideways off the branch. Of course.

‹YAH!› Marco screamed as he fell like a rock toward the ground. Marco’s eyes were already shattered into compound screens, so the ground rushed up at him from all angles. Marco’s fly wings buzzed into action while he was still too big to fly, but he managed to get lift before he hit the ground. He grumbled a colorful string of obscenities as he resettled back onto a branch.

‹You okay?› Jake asked but in thought-speak that sounded pretty unconcerned. Good to know Jake cared.

‹Oh, you know, it’s not a real mission unless something bad happens to me,› Marco remarked. ‹Did _you_ make it, Sarge?› 

‹Ask me again when I’m done being the bait,› Santorelli said.

‹It’s not personal,› Marco responded privately. 

‹I know,› Santorelli said. ‹Just calculated.›

The Santorelli situation was complicated, but Marco really wasn’t trying to get him hurt. He was just the best person for the job. His battle morph _was_ fastest, but the fact of the matter was, as an _estreen_ , he'd be able to take the most punishment. 

‹Please be careful,› Marco said, allowing himself a modicum of sincerity. 

‹You know it.›

‹Incoming,› Tobias warned.


	10. Chapter 10

_September 2001  
3970.2.104_

“Come on, guys; if we don’t hurry, they’re going to stop serving brunch,” Marco complained, flipping open his phone to check the time and power walking ahead of the two morphed Andalites. “You took _so long_ getting dressed.”

Menderash made a dismissive sound. “You overestimate my enthusiasm for this excursion.”

“So you’re telling me I’m hoofing it through WeHo for no reason? Cool, let’s just go to Burger King. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied.” Marco’s griping was gaining momentum, especially since it was a typically hot, cloudless day in Los Angeles. 

Marco had brought street clothes for both Ax and Menderash, since the clothes Andalites tended to have on hand were either their military uniforms (very dapper but a little conspicuous) or just embarrassingly tragic. Marco had a whole two dresser drawers of Ax clothes, but he hadn’t been quite sure about Menderash. In the end, he’d brought a Gucci tote full of clothes for him to choose from. It turned out he needed Ax’s pants for the length and Marco’s tops for the size. Menderash refused to let anyone help him figure his outfit out, though, so they were definitely running late to the fashionable West Hollywood cafe where Marco had even made reservations. But they looked great.

“Yes. I would be satisfied. I would be even more satisfied had you left me with the ship,” Menderash drawled. “What do humans call this arrangement? A tricycle?” 

Marco looked over his shoulder at Menderash, squinting. “Oh my god, you’re saying you’re a third wheel?” Marco laughed and grabbed Ax’s hand to pull him along faster. “That’s amazing, a tricycle. I love Andalites.”

Ax stumbled a bit as Marco dragged him. “Menderash, I think you’re the only member of the crew who hasn’t partaken of human tasting rituals. It is an important cultural experience.” Marco snickered at Ax’s phrasing.

“That is not the case, Prince,” Menderash corrected. “I partook in tasting the ‘bottle of Jack’ Marco dared me to drink. And I completed the task -- it was markedly unpleasant.”

Ax frowned at Marco. “Should I leave you alone in your apartment instead of with my crew when I have work to do?”

“To be fair,” Marco said, “that bottle was supposed to last the whole time we were in New York, and I didn’t think Menderash was gonna actually drink it all. More like he chugged it. It was horrifying. I think I already learned my lesson.”

Marco saw Ax notice they were still holding hands. Ax pulled his hand away. Marco knew why, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hate it. 

“I have to advise you not to test Menderash. He is unpredictable and impulsive.” 

“I am still here, Prince,” Menderash objected.

Marco checked his phone again and sighed. This place was notorious, not just for its unbelievable French toast, but also for ending brunch service strictly at one thirty. It was one twenty-eight. Marco led the two Andalites up the row of shops and restaurants along Santa Monica Boulevard, trying not to get antsy at how crowded it was getting. This had been his idea. But if he got mobbed by fans or had one of his own relatively rare freakouts, it would likely ruin their plans. That was if Menderash hadn’t already by taking so long to get ready.

Sighing, Marco watched the time change to one thirty-one just as they arrived. Oh well -- time to see if fame really could get you anything in Los Angeles. He entered the bright, open restaurant and waved Ax and Menderash through. It was milling with people and servers. Everyone looked beautiful and rich; it was Marco’s favorite kind of place. 

He walked up to the exceptionally styled hostess and leaned on her podium. He flashed his most charming smile when she lifted her eyes from the reservation chart. She was tall, so she was still looking down at Marco.

“Reservation for Lisiewicz Castillo,” Marco said, turning on the big eyes and charm that had suddenly started working way better when he became famous. “ _Marco_ Lisiewicz Castillo.”

“Yes, I recognize you,” she said, unimpressed. It was mildly understandable -- after all, Bennifer had eaten there last week. But Marco didn’t remember Ben Affleck ever saving the world, except in _Armageddon_. The hostess looked from Marco to Ax, then settled for a moment longer on Menderash, which Marco found vaguely insulting, since his human morph wasn’t notorious for _anything_. “Your reservation was for twelve thirty. I’m sorry, but as you can see, we’re very busy. If you can wait, I can seat you at the next available.”

“That’s fine, but are you still serving brunch?” Marco asked, standing up straight and bouncing slightly on his toes.

She blinked and frowned. “No, I’m sorry, brunch service ended at one thirty.”

“You can’t make an exception?” Marco pursed his lips.

She pressed her lips together, clearly used to patrons trying to get special treatment. “No. We stop serving brunch at _one thirty_.”

Marco sighed and looked up at Ax, who was smiling, studying the glass ceiling appreciatively. “Okay, we’ll wait.” Marco sighed, turning to lead his companions to the waiting area. Menderash wasn’t expressive, but Marco thought he caught some kind of look in his eyes. Marco and Ax took their seats near the door, but Menderash hung back.

“What’s he doing?” Marco whispered.

“I can never tell you what his intentions are,” Ax said. He sniffed the air. “I smell cinnamon.”

“Yeah, that’ll be the French toast we’re not getting today. Can you believe she resisted my charms?” Marco crossed his arms and leaned against the wall sullenly.

“I cannot imagine resisting you,” Ax said. Marco felt the creep of a soppy smile. “You would never shut up.” Marco laughed and elbowed Ax.

Marco turned back to Menderash, who was talking to the hostess. She was smiling, tilting her head toward him, playing with her hair. He had his hip braced casually against her counter and was leaning in, gracefully touching his collarbone with his long, delicate fingers. She laughed and put her hand down next to his. He touched her wrist lightly.

“Oh my god,” Marco said. Ax glanced over, his eyes half-lidded, unsurprised. “Menderash is chatting her up.”

“He has many skills,” Ax said, nodding. “I’m thinking of promoting him.”

“You’re thinking of promoting him for… for that?” Marco tried to gesture subtly. He probably looked like he had a facial tic.

“How many Andalites do you know who are able to do _that_ proficiently?” 

“Well, you. But it took a while,” Marco said under his breath.

“I have always been very smooth,” Ax whispered.

“Of course, dear,” Marco dismissed, still staring at Menderash. “I never had to rescue you from the embrace of an EMT because you ate a whole food court’s worth of cinnamon buns and garbage.”

Marco watched the hostess laugh, lean forward, and write on her pad briefly. She tore a corner out and handed it to Menderash. She briefly squeezed his elbow and walked into the back of the restaurant. 

Menderash rejoined them, leaning against the wall rather than sitting next to Marco. “We’re having brunch. I hope it is worth it. I also obtained her number.”

“Shit,” Marco said, impressed.

The server seated them in short order, handing them drink menus and the coveted brunch menus. He put a finger to his lips in a _shh_ gesture. 

“We’re ready to order,” Marco said before the server left and before anyone could open their menus. “We all want the French toast. Side of bacon for me. Extra cinnamon for him. Coffee for everyone.”

The server collected the menus and went to put their orders in.

“Don’t order for me, Marco,” Menderash hissed. “I am not your confusing on- and off-again romantic partner.”

Ax didn’t look up from the sugar packets he was rearranging, but he did make a small “pfft” sound. Marco laughed a single noncommittal laugh. “Yeah, even I’m not _that_ crazy. Didn’t you just say you’ve never eaten food? You don’t know what you like. So I got you what other Andalites would like.”

“Yes, that’s me. Typical Andalite.” Menderash unrolled his cloth napkin, causing the silverware to loudly clatter onto the table. A few of their fellow patrons turned to look at them. 

Marco shrank in his seat a little but raised his eyebrows. “Oh, don’t look, but Mena Suvari is behind you.”

“I don’t know if I can contain myself,” Menderash seethed, lining his utensils up by ascending size.

Ax finished sorting the sugar packets and reached for the bottle of balsamic vinegar next to Marco. Marco caught his wrist and put Ax’s hand down on the seat between them. Ax shot a glance at Marco as if a great idea suddenly occurred to him. He surreptitiously put his hand on Marco’s thigh. Marco gulped. It was Ax’s rule they couldn’t be a couple in public. What a cheater. Marco was _so_ into that. 

The server brought their coffee out in an elegant but impractical carafe. Marco and Ax immediately started ripping open creams and sugars and dumping them into their cups. They both reached for the last cream at the same time, each of them grasping a corner like _Lady and the Tramp_ ’s spaghetti. Marco was ready to yank it out of Ax’s hand, but Ax moved his other hand higher up Marco’s thigh. Marco let go of the cream and held his breath, trying to keep his face straight. Menderash was forced to take his coffee black, which seemed to suit him anyway. 

In short order, their food was delivered, and Ax abandoned Marco’s thigh in favor of his true love, cinnamon breakfast food. Each serving came with eight triangles of thick, perfectly caramelized brioche, delicately plated in a dusting of brown sugar and cinnamon. On the side was a fan of lightly fried apple slices, a drizzle of caramel, and a thick scoop of cinnamon sugar-infused whipped cream. Marco grinned and watched Ax melt when he took his first bite. Marco always knew he’d hit it out of the park when Ax actually stopped to savor things.

“Is this it?” Menderash said, chewing with his mouth open. “It’s very… soft.”

Marco passed him the maple syrup, which he could tell was very expensive. “You’re supposed to put this on it.”

Menderash complied, took another bite, and actually frowned, Marco suspected out of human instinct rather than intent to emote. “That makes it worse. Eating is disgusting. Mouths are an inferior evolutionary trait.” He pushed his plate away, and Ax trained his eyes on it intently.

“You are not going to eat that?” Ax asked, practically salivating.

“No,” Menderash said.

Ax pulled the thick slices of toast messily onto his own plate, looking like he’d just been awarded his people’s highest honor. Marco had only ever intended to bring Ax to this brunch spot, so he wasn’t bothered that Menderash didn’t like it. It was Ax who proposed the tricycle arrangement; it wasn’t unusual for Ax to make their dates less date-like. Marco was quickly growing tired of the awkward complications of their secret relationship but watching Ax moved nearly to tears by French toast was always going to be worth it.

Except Marco’s jaw dropped when the server brought the check.

“Fuck, I knew this place was high end, but this is _insane_ ,” he said in a low voice, raking his hand through his hair. “A decent tip on this is gonna be sixty dollars, by itself.”

Menderash loudly sipped his coffee. “Oh. Yes. That was part of the arrangement. I told the host you would pay four times the cost of the meal.”

“You did _what_?” Marco struggled to keep his voice down.

“It was important to you, wasn’t it? I thought you wouldn’t mind, since you got what you wanted.” He took another long sip. “I do like coffee.”

Marco fished out his Platinum AmEx and snapped the check presenter shut, glaring at Menderash. “Please stay on the ship next time.”

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.66_

It was a testament to Tobias’ skill as a practiced lookout that he managed to spot the Andalite before he entered the clearing, even with questionable fly senses. From the east, a sturdy-looking warrior weaved through the trees and came to a stop in the middle of the clearing, where Forlay had shown them the entrance. 

‹Move out,› Jake ordered. ‹Stay close to the ground. Try to use the shadows in your favor. Get under his body and stay out of stalk eyesight.› 

Marco zipped down along the ground, weaving between the blades of grass much more competently than he navigated the forest. As he approached the Andalite’s hooves, Marco’s faceted fly eyes shattered the hologram that was disguising the entrance to the compound, and the deep, dark tunnel became visible. Marco managed to settle near the Andalite’s back left hoof just as the force field he was standing on began to descend. 

‹Everyone good?› Jake asked. They all checked in, confirming they were somewhere under the Andalite.

As they went deeper, less moonlight filtered down until it was pitch black, as far as Marco could tell with his fly senses. Marco called up the floor plan of the facility and studied it. They needed a safe place to demorph. They needed choke points to draw pursuers to. They needed to find Menderash. They needed an escape route. They’d be lucky if half the things they needed fell into place.

Classic mission chances.

‹When we get to the bottom, we all go right,› Marco said. He explained the ideal stations for each person, if they were clear of guards. Gave backups if they weren’t. The only person who had to secure one specific location was Jeanne, but he was pretty sure she could handle taking it if she had to.

‹Remember, if you get hurt,› Jake said tightly, ‹hold out until you can get to safety to demorph. You can’t risk being human or hawk or between morphs. Call for help if you get immobilized.›

The elevator reached the bottom of the tunnel. A panel opened, allowing a moderate amount of light to spill in. The Andalite stepped out into a tight hall, and Marco buzzed out with him, several inches below the long fur under the base of his tail. The hall was only wide enough to accommodate about two Andalite body widths, and the lighting, as far as fly eyes could tell, was diffuse and dim. Obviously it sucked being an Andalite military criminal, but considering Andalites were naturally claustrophobic grazers, it had to suck to _work_ here too.

The job was about to get way worse.

‹I’m going on ahead,› Tobias said.

‹Hug the walls, stay in the dark,› Jake advised.

‹I’ve got it,› Tobias assured.

Marco couldn’t really tell where anyone else was. He also had an assignment, so he buzzed out from under the Andalite, down to the bottom corner of the hall where it was darkest. He flew along the wall, following the map in his mind. It was easier to visualize himself like an icon on a video game minimap than to actually try to make sense of his fly sight. He counted halls compared to the image in his mind, took a turn, passed an Andalite on patrol, and took another turn. The first stop he reached were the regular holding cells.

‹Menderash?› he called out in private thought-speak. No answer. He buzzed forward and called out a couple more times. Either Menderash was in a different part of the facility or he wasn’t able to respond. Marco kept flying.

‹I’m in place and I’m clear. Ready to morph at your signal,› Jeanne said. One less thing to worry about.

Marco headed toward the solitary cubes. Forlay seemed to indicate that she thought this was the most likely place for Menderash to be. While he flew, Jake and Santorelli checked in that they had they had also taken point. Marco kept counting halls, visualizing the mental map. Left turn, into a more open, brighter area -- Marco kept to the walls but he could smell Andalites in here. He couldn’t tell how many. He was relieved when he made it back to the relative dark of the closed off halls. He was sure the Andalites would stay in the open as much as they could.

‹Okay, I think I’ve patrolled the whole place,› Tobias said. ‹There are four warriors in a big room that looks like an office or an employee… break room? There’s grass on the ground there. There are three more guys patrolling the halls, one in front of the cells, the one we came in with -- I think he’s heading for the other exit, -- and one in the hall with the solitary units.›

‹Thanks, Tobias,› Jake said. ‹Have you found Menderash, Marco?›

‹I’m just getting to the solitary units myself,› Marco said. ‹Menderash?› 

The walls were totally smooth. He was fairly certain he was correct about his location, but if Forlay hadn’t pointed them out to him on her map, Marco wouldn’t have known the solitary units were there. It just looked like a blank wall.

‹ _Menderash_?› Marco called out again. 

‹Marco,› Menderash replied, his thought-speak weak. He sounded almost distorted, like someone had run his thought-speech through some kind of audio filter. ‹I don’t know whether to be relieved or apprehensive that my life is in _your_ hands.›

‹Nice to know you’re still the same sweet, lovable guy,› Marco deadpanned, but Menderash’s familiar prickliness really was a comfort. To his friends, he reported, ‹Menderash is in one of the solitary units. Sarge, point.›

‹Got it,› Santorelli said. He was going to relocate to a safe morphing zone nearby. Marco was more nervous now that the plan was about to break loose. Santorelli was definitely in the most danger; it was only slightly comforting he could demorph and remorph faster than anyone else.

‹Okay, Ash, where are you?› Marco landed on the wall that he knew was an invisible block of tiny solitary cells.

‹I am in a box,› Menderash said unhelpfully.

‹But where? There’s no doors,› Marco said. Marco heard a thump several feet ahead of him. He walked forward along the wall until he reached the approximate area the sound came from. ‹Can you do that again?› Another thump, and the wall vibrated under him. Marco broadcast his thought-speak to the whole team, ‹I found him. I’m about to find a place to morph. You ready, Sarge?›

‹Ready’s a strong word.› Santorelli laughed nervously in Marco’s head. ‹But yeah, just tell me when to go.›

Marco turned into a short corridor that led to a door off the solitary hall and landed in the darkest corner. ‹First target, the guy patrolling closest to solitary.›

Tobias responded, ‹I’m with him. He’s about to turn into the hall that leads past the units.›

Marco started morphing. ‹Tobias, when he gets to the end of the hall, signal Santorelli.› 

Marco tried to morph quickly, but it always seemed the same no matter what he focused on. As he got more human parts, he tried to tuck them in and make himself small. He was off in a side hall, so unless one of the other Andalites was in an unexpected place, he wasn’t at risk of being spotted. He still curled himself up as tightly as possible. 

Marco heard the click of Andalite hooves pass the corridor that led to his hiding place and froze. The steps continued past, getting further away. Marco took a shaky breath and started morphing again. At the midpoint, he had to stand because the joints in his legs had reconfigured, and he was starting to risk slicing himself on his own blades.

‹Santorelli, the mark is turning in three, two,› Tobias counted off, and Marco braced himself. ‹...one.›

Marco’s Hork-Bajir hearing was more acute than his human hearing. The leopard’s low throaty growl was unmistakable. Marco clenched his claws into fists, hoping his plan didn’t get Santorelli killed.

‹Intruder!› the Andalite yelled. ‹It is an alien!›

Marco heard his hooves scrabble into a pounding run. More hissing cries from Santorelli as he presumably led the Andalite to where Jeanne and Jake were hiding. 

Marco tromped back to where Menderash’s cell was and pressed a claw into the wall. With better eyesight, he could see that the wall was indeed completely featureless. There were no access panels around, no buttons to press. With all his strength, he slammed an elbow blade into the smooth, glassy wall. The impact reverberated through his body, but the wall wasn’t even nicked. Marco supposed that made sense, since the cells had to resist tail blade strikes too.

He was briefly distracted by a flurry of loud noise from elsewhere in the facility. A sickening crunch. An agonized thought-speak scream. The wild, unhinged laughter of a hyena. Jake’s familiar tiger growl. It all echoed through the smooth halls in a cacophony of violence. The thought-speak scream didn’t stop. Andalite legs weren’t made to withstand hyena jaws. Marco heard the clatter of more Andalites running toward the fray. All running away from where he was.

‹How do I get in?› Marco asked frantically.

‹Three warriors incoming on Jeanne and Jake,› Tobias said. ‹Santorelli, you okay?› 

‹Yeah. All back together again. I can now unequivocally say that a leopard is _almost_ faster than an Andalite,› Santorelli quipped. Marco could tell he was trying not to sound rattled.

Marco slammed his wrist blade into the wall, knowing it was just going to vibrate his bones. ‹Ash! How do you open this?›

‹I apologize -- Terashin’s screams are very satisfying,› Menderash said. ‹I believe the cells can only be engaged via thought-speak commands from authorized personnel.›

‹Fuck,› Marco said.

Another chaotic fight broke out where everyone else was stationed. It sounded like Jake took a hit; his tiger shriek ripped down the hall. But shortly after, there was another horrific crunch. A sharp crack. More screaming. Jeanne’s hyena laughter bounced off the walls.

‹Okay, I get that your hyena morph is built to shatter bones,› Santorelli said, ‹but do you have to laugh about it every time? It’s a little creepy.›

‹It’s the hyena’s instinct,› Jeanne said primly. ‹But it is also a good terrorizing technique, don’t you think?›

‹You’re terrorizing _me_ ,› Santorelli objected. 

Marco ground his Hork-Bajir horns into the wall in front of him, listening to hooves clacking, the characteristic FWAP of tail blades, and the growls and cries of two big cats. He needed to figure out how to free Menderash so they could get out before even more Andalites came and completely overpowered them. ‹How’s the fight going?›

‹I’m about to morph and join. It’s definitely harder without the element of surprise,› Tobias said.

‹Any ideas, Ash?› Marco asked Menderash.

‹The warrior with the dark blue spots and half a stalk eye,› Menderash said. ‹He is morph incapable. Threaten him.›

‹Is there a guy missing a stalk eye with you guys?› Marco asked.

‹Not that I see,› Tobias said. ‹But Hork-Bajir eyes aren’t great.›

‹He is a coward; I am not surprised,› Menderash said. ‹Check in the central chamber. Otherwise, he may have fled.›

‹Tobias, can you break away and meet me in the room with the grass?› Marco asked.

‹I think so,› he answered. ‹There should only be two Andalites left from my original count.›

Marco headed back down the halls, toward the open room that had made him nervous as a fly. Sure enough, when he arrived, there was an Andalite at a holographic display. He had dark blue spots and was missing the eye part of his left stalk eye. When Marco entered, he assumed a defensive stance.

‹We know who you are! The Earth allies of Menderash-Postill-Fastill!› Three Eyes exclaimed haughtily, as if he expected Marco to be impressed.

‹Good job,› Marco said sardonically. ‹I’m sure your prince will be _so proud_ that you figured it out. Unless you can’t tell him because what you’re doing is illegal and unauthorized. Unless he _did_ authorize this and you’re just a patsy.› Three Eyes lifted his tail up over his shoulder, his single stalk eye shuddering at the offense. ‹Cool, so the latter, then? Good to know it’ll be easy to outsmart you.›

Marco lowered his stance, his muscles coiled, ready to spring to attack. Three Eyes saw this, stepped forward, and struck first. Exactly what Marco had wanted. Marco hissed as the blade penetrated his leathery chest several inches deep. Three Eyes took a few seconds to withdraw it, and that was the window Marco was waiting for. He wrapped his Hork-Bajir hands tightly around the slim, prehensile muscle at the base of the Andalite’s tail blade. 

He remembered sitting with Ax in their scoop, sleepy on a hot summer afternoon between battles, asking Ax for an anatomy lesson. He’d been joking, but Ax, in a classic demonstration of the galaxy’s driest humor, explained his hooves, his redundant secondary lungs, and the parts of his tail. Marco remembered Ax put his blade right up to Marco’s face to describe the muscles at the base of the blade -- how they were extremely complex and delicate. He said to grab someone by the tip of the tail was one of the highest offenses in their society. Then he explained that the density of muscles in that part of the tail made it _incredibly sensitive_ \-- and it became the kind of anatomy lesson Marco had been getting at in the first place.

Marco squeezed the sinewy, fleshy end of the warrior’s tail, immobilizing the blade. Three Eyes was clearly enraged and kicked at Marco’s bloody, but rapidly healing, chest with his front hooves. Marco held on, kicking at the Andalite with his knee blades, nicking the base of his humanoid torso. Three Eyes was trying to pull his tail away. He was incredibly strong, but Hork-Bajir were built to swing from vines. To this morph, an Andalite tail might as well have been a vine. Three Eyes probably could have freed himself with the striking power and speed of his tail, but that would also risk serious damage, and he was morph incapable.

That was it.

Marco managed to withstand Three Eyes’ pathetic attempt at hand-to-hand combat -- Marco specialized in gorilla, no Andalite who only knew how to tail fight was going to best him there -- until Tobias joined him. The two of them as Hork-Bajir were able to restrain him and drag him back to Menderash’s cell.

‹Free Menderash-Postill-Fastill,› Marco demanded. 

‹Never! You’ll have to kill me!› He struggled, but Tobias had his arms and front hooves pinned in a bear hug. A very dangerous, threatening bear hug.

‹You know, that wouldn’t accomplish my goals at all. But I do have a pretty good idea,› Marco said, his thought-speak dripping with menacing honey. Marco squeezed the tip of Three Eyes’ tail with his left claw, making sure his grip was secure. He held his wrist blade up to Three Eyes’ flesh. He watched the muscles twist. He met the Andalite's eyes and saw the panic there. ‹What would you do if my blade slipped? If that happened, I think _your_ blade might slip too. Right off of you.›

Tobias looked at Marco -- Marco didn’t know anything about Hork-Bajir expressions, but he felt judged. He didn’t care. Three Eyes’ stalks were shivering, his ears were flat against his head, and his nostrils were flaring with each breath. The tail in Marco’s hand was wriggling like a worm. Marco made direct eye contact with the Andalite’s main eyes. Carefully, he scraped his blade down Three Eyes’ skin -- the Andalite went absolutely still. Marco shaved a patch of hair off.

‹What do you think? Is this illegal interrogation situation worth your tail? Would you be fine being a _vecol _? Seems quiet. Or do you have a life you want to go back to?›__

__‹You are a monster,› Three Eyes said. But he turned his eyes to the wall and the glassy surface went transparent, seemed to thin, and then disappeared altogether._ _

__Marco couldn’t conceive of how an Andalite was supposed to fit in there. The whole cell was only hip height on Marco’s Hork-Bajir morph. It didn’t hold human _nothlit_ Menderash comfortably. Menderash’s face pressed into the wall of his cell and his brown skin bloomed purple with bruises. He had a few gashes that were on their way to nasty scars. The plain black clothes he insisted on were slashed to ribbons. Menderash peered up at the two Hork-Bajir restraining the Andalite before him. _ _

__‹That was better than I thought you’d do,› Menderash commented, looking at Marco blankly._ _

__‹Thanks,› Marco said sincerely. He didn’t know if Menderash had ever complimented him before. Marco couldn’t help but think the situation was fitting. ‹You never managed to teach me to fly competently, but I picked up the art of a good threat.›_ _

__Menderash scooted forward, but he wasn’t completely mobile and struggled to move. Marco was no doctor, but he could tell Menderash needed one._ _

__‹Guys, how you doing? Sarge? Jake?› Marco called out._ _

__‹We just took out the last one. He was trying to run. On our way,› Santorelli responded._ _

__After a few minutes, Jake, Jeanne, and Santorelli joined them, back in their human bodies, each of them smeared with red and dark blue blood -- Jeanne especially. Santorelli looked down at Menderash, who was still feebly inching his way out of his cell, moving with the tenderness of someone who hurt everywhere. Santorelli bent down next to him._ _

__“Can I help?” he asked, opening his hands, palms out toward Menderash._ _

__‹I suppose I cannot refuse,› Menderash admitted._ _

__Carefully, Santorelli laced an arm under Menderash’s knees and around his shoulders. He pulled him out of the hole in the wall and made sure his grip was secure. Cradling a broken Menderash, Santorelli stood and looked to Jake for his next order. Jake was studying their captive Andalite._ _

__“Do you know anything?” Jake asked Three Eyes._ _

__‹Of course I know things.› Three Eyes struggled against Tobias’ grip, but Tobias just tightened his hug and pressed a knee blade against Three Eyes’ ribs._ _

__“Who authorized Menderash’s captivity here?” Jake asked._ _

__‹I don’t have that information,› Three Eyes admitted._ _

__“What’s your name and who is your superior?” Jake asked. Three Eyes answered. It wasn’t catchy, and Marco was starting to remember how tired he’d been before this incredibly long night started._ _

__“Do we need to knock you out like all your comrades or can we let you go and you’ll let us leave? Alternately, we can show you what my friend here --” Jake jerked his chin at Jeanne. “-- can do to Andalite legs. It’s _really_ not pretty. Make sure to remind the others that they can morph out of their injuries. For the inventors of morphing technology, you guys are not the best at it. I offer classes.”_ _

__‹I will allow you to leave,› Three Eyes said resentfully, his eyes full of hatred._ _

__“Very kind of you,” Jake said. “Let’s head out, guys.”_ _

__Marco and Tobias dragged Three Eyes back to the elevator that led up out of the tunnel. He engaged the controls for them, and everyone stepped onto the force field platform. Before the platform started to ascend, Tobias released Three Eyes. He stumbled forward, limited by the fact that Marco was still holding his tail like a leash._ _

__Marco gave the tail a final squeeze. The Andalite winced. ‹This was fun and all, but I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ll call you.› Marco opened his claws just as the platform began to rise. Three Eyes whipped his tail away._ _

__Marco and Tobias demorphed on their way up. Marco didn’t think he’d be glad to see the bright red night sky of Andalite peeking through the weird corkscrew forest, but he was relieved to have grass between his toes again, even weird alien grass._ _

__He looked back to Menderash, who looked like he was napping against Santorelli’s chest. Not a bad place to nap; Marco knew from experience. Santorelli held Menderash protectively. They reminded Marco of when Jeanne had the mental overload on the _Rachel_. Santorelli was the type who needed to take care of his team. Marco knew that from experience, too._ _

__“How will we get Menderash to the safe house Forlay talked about?” Jeanne asked._ _

__‹It’s only about five miles away. I can lead,› Tobias said, from one of the trees they had morphed in earlier. ‹Someone could morph Hork-Bajir and run him there.›_ _

__“I think I can do it like this if you don’t mind that I’ll be slower than a Hork-Bajir,” Santorelli suggested._ _

__Jake put a hand on Santorelli’s shoulder. “I get why you want to, but you’ve done enough. I can take him from here.”_ _

__“Okay,” Santorelli said reluctantly._ _

__Jake morphed Hork-Bajir and took Menderash from Santorelli, as gently as he could. Tobias took off, and Jake followed, stomping into the thick forest on his big T-rex feet. Jeanne, Marco, and Santorelli stood alone in the clearing._ _

__“I am going back to the hotel,” Jeanne said. “It is stupid to stand right on top of the base we just assaulted.”_ _

__With that, she morphed whatever her spotty, small hawk was and flew off. Marco looked up at Santorelli. He was looking up at the moons -- the smaller, greenish moon was transiting across the largest moon._ _

__“She’s right, you know,” Marco said. “We should at least walk.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Santorelli agreed, but he didn’t move._ _

__Marco sighed. He slipped his hand into Santorelli’s. It was big and warm, compared to Marco’s. Santorelli looked down at him, biting his lower lip. Marco started walking and tugged at him. Santorelli followed him back into the forest._ _

__After they walked for a bit, Santorelli asked, “Do you even know where you’re going?”_ _

__“Who cares?” Marco shrugged. “We’re gonna fly out of here anyway. We just really did need to get away from that prison. And I wanna talk to you with our real faces on. Not to discount the magic of being a bird to encourage serious conversations. It’s like being trapped in a car with someone, except if they make you mad you can fly away.”_ _

__“What do you have to say?” Santorelli said, his voice low in his throat._ _

__“One,” Marco said, stopping them in a thick part of the woods. The trees clustered around them created a feeling of privacy. “I’m glad you’re okay. I know that wasn’t your first mission, but it _was_ like, your second.”_ _

__“You don’t have to praise me for a job well done,” Santorelli said, rolling his eyes._ _

__“I know, but I was scared for you. It’s not like I _like_ planning that kind of thing.”_ _

__“Do you always apologize for doing the thing Jake keeps you around to do?” Santorelli joked._ _

__“Jake keeps me around for my charming personality,” Marco corrected. “And no. I just know you felt… something. About the situation. I just wanted to make sure it was clear it wasn’t about you. Or us.”_ _

__“What do you think I thought?” Santorelli quirked one side of his mouth up, but his eyes were flat. “That you were trying to get me out of the way so you can go back to Ax without any awkward questions?”_ _

__Marco frowned. “No, but that’s pretty specific and it's fucked up if you think that.”_ _

__“I don’t think that. But I do know that you just spent the equivalent of fifteen days at Ax’s side while he was in a coma, but you wouldn’t ever consistently let me stay the night.” Santorelli squeezed Marco’s hand. Marco wasn’t really sure why._ _

__“Yeah. I guess that’s what we need to talk about.”_ _

__“Shocker.” Santorelli laughed. “You know, the rest of us went on living while you languished in that hospital room. It’s not like you’re the only person who matters and we pause our lives around you.”_ _

__“What?” Marco feigned surprise. “But that means… this changes everything!”_ _

__Santorelli let Marco's hand go and gripped his shoulder. “Even before I knew you were in love with Ax, I knew what we were doing wasn’t a real thing.”_ _

__Marco winced. How was Santorelli so comfortable with a word that died every time it got to Marco’s lips? Marco looked down. Santorelli’s big, slightly fuzzy feet were fidgeting against each other. “I don’t believe you, Sarge. I know what I’m working with. But you were doing something real. I’m sorry you wasted that on me.”_ _

__Santorelli bent down to Marco’s level and touched his chin to dip his head back. Santorelli kissed him, his soft lips a contrast against the rough stubble that scraped against Marco’s chin and cheek. It started off just a sweet brushing of their lips, but Marco reached up and pulled Santorelli in. Even with the stubble and the implicit knowledge that this was the last time, Santorelli’s kiss was slow and gentle. He’d been a sanctuary, the way he cared about Marco canceling out at least some of Marco’s self-loathing. Marco may have felt empty, but Santorelli had made a very sincere effort to fill him. With warmth and kindness, obviously._ _

__They separated, and Marco put his hand on Santorelli’s face. He realized that he was Andalite kissing Santorelli out of old habit and laughed weakly. “You know, I don’t even know where I stand with Ax. He might not even want me back. I don’t even know what _I_ want. It’s not like anything changed since we broke up. Except I’m here.”_ _

__“Are you saying I should keep my schedule open?” Santorelli joked._ _

__“Find someone who isn’t selfish and won’t use you, Sarge,” Marco said._ _

__Santorelli smiled sincerely and pulled Marco into a warm, strong hug. “I’ll work on it. I hope you figure out what you want.”_ _

__While Marco was pressed into him, downy white fuzz spilled from the crown of Santorelli’s head, running down his arms and chest like a waterfall. The feathers got thicker and Santorelli started shrinking. Marco let go and stepped back, because he had always been of the opinion that hugging birds was weird, _Rachel Berenson_. Santorelli was fully snowy white falcon after just a minute and flapped up and out of the forest. _ _

__Marco got his own set of wings and flapped off toward Ax’s scoop._ _


	11. Chapter 11

_October 2000  
3970.1.119_

The room was dark, and Marco was still wearing his suit. He knew he couldn’t lie on his back in his hotel room staring at the ceiling, replaying the Animorphs’ Greatest Hits in his mind like a projector forever. The curtains were drawn, so for all he knew, it might have already been morning -- and he had a press conference at ten a.m. Who scheduled that for the day after…

Blink. Clear the picture. Rewind. 

The first time they were in the Yeerk Pool. Stupid. So stupid. No recon, no stealth, they’d just waltzed right into the mouth of hell. The opposite of quick thinking. The opposite of caution. And they’d been so stupid, so out of their depth that obviously it took her reckless abandon, her inborn warrior’s heart to remind them what their weapon was. Their greatest weapon was always her.

She was so battle focused, she didn’t even notice lost limbs. She was crazy enough to pick up Visser Three as he slashed at her elephant face and throw him into a pool full of instant maple and ginger oatmeal. She was smart and ruthless enough to play David into the trap, and then she was brutal enough to finally end him. She was compassionate enough to tell Marco there was no body after they faced off against Visser One. She was soldier enough to accept her final order. She was a battering ram, she was brute force, she was their berserker. 

Blink. Clear the picture. Rewind. 

She had known. She had known going in what was going to happen. Jake had given her the order, moved her into position, and she’d known it was a death sentence. She’d gone in unafraid. Or not, maybe not. Maybe that’s just what Marco always wanted to believe about her, that she was fearless, that she didn’t agonize over her role in the war. Maybe she was afraid. But even in her last moments, she’d smiled; she’d been strong. The strongest of all of them, somehow gone.

Blink. Clear the picture. Rewind.

Rachel sipping Diet Coke in the food court, pointing out the fashion disasters that passed, laughing when Marco would join in and almost knew what he was talking about. Rachel, platinum highlights glittering against gold, catching the evening light shining into Cassie’s barn, smiling up into the rafters at Tobias. Rachel, beautiful and fearsome like a force of nature, even after six consecutive morphs and with bloodlust in her eyes. Her last smile, her last words -- soft, but strong as ever. Perfect Rachel. Warrior Rachel. Impossible Rachel. Extinguished Rachel.

Battles replayed on the ceiling over him, a melange of violence and brutality. A tiger, a wolf, a gorilla, a hawk, an Andalite. Sometimes a bear, sometimes an elephant. Always the first to rush into battle. Always ready to fight, to make the sacrifice. Never again. The bear and the elephant were gone. At least there were no more battles. At least they wouldn’t have to fight without her.

The war was over, the negotiations were over, the _fight_ was over. Marco still had a part to play -- the damage control, the PR, the postwar media strategy. There was no more fight to fight, but that didn’t mean they didn’t need her. They still needed her. Marco and Rachel had always been two sides of the same ruthless war coin. He a scalpel, she a sledgehammer. 

That was what made the difference between Marco lying in a hotel bed in Ventura and her being carried off in Tobias’ talons in a jar.

He’d gone in circles like this since he got back from her funeral. He’d collapsed on the bed and finally let it all crash into him. Everything in him was firing on all cylinders, even more than usual. His body didn’t know the war was over, that he was exhausted. It’d be a long time before he could just relax. If he ever could.

It was real, and it was over. They were done, and she was gone. And finally Marco was alone, no cameras on, no speeches to make, Jake wasn’t there for Marco to force to keep moving. He could finally slow down and feel it. He wished he didn’t have to.

There was a tap at his door. He jerked so hard, he almost fell out of bed. Hot adrenaline coursed through him. He sat up on the side of the bed. He was safe. He was fine. It really was over. He glanced at the clock -- two a.m. 

Another tap -- not a knock -- sharper, like a knife clinking against the dinner table. Marco swallowed. Didn’t move to open the door. Didn’t want to see anyone.

‹Marco?›

Ax. Even for Ax, he couldn’t muster too much energy -- he had to save it for the cameras. He crossed the room, unlocked the lock, the deadbolt, the latch, and the chain. He opened the door and went back to bed. He took some deep breaths, despite the fact that had never really helped his heart rate go down after he was startled. Ax shut the door behind him, not bothering with all the locks. 

“Hey, Prince, sorry I didn’t roll out the red carpet. Still dressed up, though,” Marco joked, half muffled by his pillow.

‹I noticed,› Ax said. He moved to the window and parted the curtains, looking out over the ocean. His stalk eyes watched Marco. ‹This is a nice location. Does your family have a long term rehoming plan?›

“I dunno, Ax, it’s not even been a week,” Marco said. “I guess I’ve had other things on my mind.”

‹Understandable,› Ax said. He turned back to Marco. ‹I have been impressed with how you have handled yourself.›

“Never thought I was a disappointment in that department before,” Marco deadpanned, pulling a fourth pillow over to prop himself up into some semblance of attention.

Ax missed a beat then caught up. ‹An innuendo. Appropriate in all contexts.›

“Wouldn’t want to fail to meet expectations,” Marco said flatly. He looked up at the ceiling again. There was no tableau of battles. It was just him and Ax. Considering how the team was breaking down without Rachel, Marco was prepared for that to be the new status quo. He wondered how long even that would last. 

‹You have been more stable than any of the others,› Ax observed. ‹You do seem more affected tonight, though.›

Marco pressed his fingers into his temples. Sometimes Ax felt so much more alien, and this was a bad time. “A funeral will do that, I guess. Don’t you feel anything about Rachel’s death?”

Ax walked delicately over to the side of Marco’s bed and curled his legs up under him so he could rest his elbows on the bed next to Marco. ‹I hope you know that I do. We train to prepare for the deaths of our fellow warriors. But I don’t think it is really possible to fully prepare for it.›

Marco sighed and felt his expression relax. “I’m glad you admit that. I know you’re not human, but sometimes it’s good to have a reminder you have feelings.” 

‹I’m trying to find solace in the fact that she died a warrior’s death. I want to believe that she would have been satisfied with that.› Ax’s thought-speak was soft and hesitating, like he was repeating something he didn’t quite accept.

“Do you think that’s enough?” Marco asked.

‹No,› Ax said, serious and final. 

“What are we going to do?” Marco’s voice cracked with more emotion than he usually let slip past. 

‹We will do what we always do. Continue to move forward.›

Marco edged forward and put his head on Ax’s shoulder. Ax placed his delicate arms around Marco’s shoulders. Andalites didn’t hug, so Ax was always a little awkward about it, but he was warm and he was trying. Marco buried his face into the soft fur of Ax’s neck and noticed it was getting shorter, retracting into his skin, and the arms around him were getting more solid, stronger.

Once Ax was human, he took Marco’s hands and pulled him out of bed. Marco stood listlessly, letting himself be manipulated like a doll. Ax slipped his jacket off and hung it carefully over the back of the desk chair. Marco looked down as Ax picked the knot out of his tie and wondered how long he’d been so in control of his human morph. He couldn’t really even remember the last time Ax played with mouth sounds. They had all been growing up, and the war never let them slow down long enough to notice. Now they would have time to actually live their lives.

Except Rachel.

Ax slid Marco’s tie out of his collar and started slipping his buttons out. He pulled Marco’s shirttails up and out, then slipped his shirt back so he was just wearing his undershirt and his binder underneath that. Ax folded his shirt a bit haphazardly and laid it on the desk. Ax undid his belt, and Marco felt himself come back into focus, like the machine at the eye doctor -- better one or two?

“What are you doing?” Marco asked as Ax pulled his belt out of the loops and let it fall to the floor.

“I know humans aren’t supposed to sleep in these clothes, and I know we both need sleep. I haven’t slept since the Pool ship; there has been too much to do. I am sure you haven’t slept appropriately, either.” Ax unbuttoned and gently pulled Marco’s pants down his hips. 

Marco stepped out of his pants and, wearing only underclothes, fell back into bed. He watched indifferently as Ax peeled off his own tight morphing jeans. Ax draped both pairs of pants over Marco’s jacket, turned off the lamp that had been on all night, then climbed into bed behind Marco. He carefully laced an arm under Marco’s and slid up behind him, his chin over Marco’s shoulder.

“Is this alright?” Ax said gently.

“Yeah.” Marco reached up and traced his fingertips down Ax’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Ax pulled him in closer and Marco tried to let himself feel safe. It worked well enough that he was able to slip into unconsciousness.

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.66_

Forlay had shown Marco where Ax’s scoop was before the mission, but he was no Tobias when it came to absorbing overhead directions. The thought impression had faded by the time he left the forest, so he was left kind of winging it in a general direction, as it were. Marco did find an area that was scattered sparingly with residential structures -- he supposed they were scoops, but they were frankly a lot more impressive than Ax’s had been on Earth. It made sense, since it’s not like Ax had been a teenage contractor, but it did make Marco realize Mertil probably deserved better at this point.

At some point he had to land, reset his morph, and continue on. It was something like his sixth morph that night, which was pushing reasonable, even at the height of the war, when rapid morphing had been essential to their survival. Marco was exhausted and thinking of turning back to the city and seeing if Jake would bunk down with him for old times’ sake. 

Finally, after calling out to Ax over five other scoops, all spread out miles apart, Marco found the right one. He landed and demorphed, then walked the perimeter of the scoop curiously. Unlike most of the other scoops Marco had stopped at, the area was pretty plain, with no cultivated plants or grass patterns around it. Ax had been missing for six months, and this wasn’t his primary residence, so that wasn’t surprising. Like Ax’s scoop on Earth, it was basically a gentle mound, but instead of a hole that could sort of be folded over with foliage to disguise it, the real homeworld scoop’s opening was covered with the same variable-opacity glassy material that most Andalite buildings seemed to be made of. 

The entrance wasn’t open, so Marco knelt down next to it and knocked.

‹You are already invited in, human,› Forlay said, sounding like she thought he was stupid.

Marco pursed his lips. He looked pointedly at the entrance and issued a thought command for it to open. The opaque teal glass gradually became clear and thin, like the surface of a bubble. A pinprick hole opened near the ground and grew to an ovular opening large enough for Marco to descend into. The entrance had a gentle ramp leading down into the scoop -- a design improvement from the short hop down he’d been used to.

The floor and ceiling were lined with what appeared to be glowing flower bulbs connected by gossamer vines like string lights. Marco followed the ramp down into the main living quarters. The entryway closed behind him and went opaque again. The inside of the scoop was warm, like Ax’s Earth scoop always had been -- Andalites were more comfortable with a higher ambient temperature, but Marco was born and bred in SoCal, and he was fine with it. 

The bioluminescent lighting was soft, seeming to shift lightly, looking almost like a fireplace if the glow were more blue than orange. This scoop was about three times bigger than Ax’s scoop in Santa Barbara had been. It was still basically an open space, but the living area was partitioned off from the sleeping area by another transluscent panel. Privacy among Andalites, how novel. There was also very little to personalize it, even less than Ax had on Earth -- this really must have just been his crash pad.

In the living area, there was a large holographic computer terminal along one side with extended work surfaces on either side. Opposite the computer was what looked like some kind of flat in-ground fountain with a gently burbling orb in the middle. Ax and Forlay faced each other on either side of the fountain. They spoke privately, Ax looking down at a handheld computer, his eyes scanning but unfocused. His tail was so low, it almost brushed the ground as he swished it weakly -- Marco could tell he was dispirited.

Marco stepped out of the short hall and into the main scoop and raised a hand in greeting. Both Andalites twisted a single stalk eye to him, and he felt small and alien. Like he knew how Marco felt, because he probably did, Ax looked up from his display with his main eyes. He looked tired and worried. Sad, even. It made sense, but even when he was waking up every morning to Ax reciting the death ritual, Marco never saw him look quite like that.

“Menderash is safe,” Marco offered.

‹I know,› Forlay said tersely. ‹He has already forwarded a report.›

“Typical. He needs medical treatment, did he report that?”

‹He didn't, but I assumed it would be the case, and a medic is there although she has no experience treating human bodies.› Frustrated, Forlay’s blade tipped back and forth rhythmically over her shoulder. ‹What a stupid, rash decision. Why not just morph if you had encountered Kelbrids? He was always dangerously uncontrollable and had no regard for self preservation.›

‹Mother,› Ax interrupted her rant. ‹He saved my life, and he sacrificed his own. Please.›

‹It was just so needless! To become a _human_.› Forlay shuddered.

“Hello, I’m still here,” Marco said. “Also, point -- Elfangor chose to become a human. Was that stupid?”

‹Absolutely.› Forlay rounded on Marco. He edged back, knowing he couldn’t get out of striking range in any direction. ‹You dare to invoke my son’s name as if he is a piece of evidence in a debate? He was a soft fool, and so is Aximili. _Humans_.›

“Five humans just infiltrated that military prison and liberated your agent, who was there because he was doing work _for you_ , so I don’t feel like the fool here,” Marco retorted.

‹Your human is quite bold for such a small specimen,› Forlay said to Ax. Her muscles had the same wound-tight, ready to strike quality Menderash had always had as an Andalite. Marco wondered if she was so angry at Menderash because she’d seen herself in him. They were definitely both beyond abrasive. 

‹Marco does not belong to me,› Ax insisted. Marco was almost starting to feel a little hurt at Ax’s consistent denials. He couldn’t decide how he would prefer Ax to respond, though. It wasn’t like he was in favor of Forlay addressing him like a pet either.

“Hey, should I leave? Because I’m too tired to deal with being treated like I’m worthless when I just did a job for you,” Marco growled. He didn’t think Ax would let his mother hurt him, but he watched her tail twitch, aware of his own recklessness. There was definitely some sort of status-based power play going on that Marco wasn’t quite sure how to navigate. But he knew as an alien, if he let himself seem weak, he would have no leverage in their interactions. 

‹No, stay,› Ax insisted. ‹Mother, go home. I’ll join you in a few days. I don’t need you to care for me. Not that it is your forte. If you have anything else to discuss with me, send it to my secure line.›

Forlay glared at Marco. She turned back to her son, swept her tail around, and linked blades with Ax. ‹Take care of yourself,› she implored. ‹Reflect on your mistakes, but don’t live in them.› 

She made her way toward the passage to the exit and regarded Marco a final time. ‹I did not expect to be impressed with your work.› With that, she departed.

“That was definitely a compliment, right?” Marco asked, turning back to Ax.

‹Yes. I’m surprised,› Ax said. ‹You seem to have made a good impression after all.›

Marco looked around wearily, cursing Andalites for their lack of seating. His eyes settled back on Ax, who was examining him too. Ax hadn’t changed much, physically, in the year since Marco last saw him. The way he felt though, the look in his eyes… reminded Marco of Jake, and that scared him.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Marco said, finally.

‹I am not okay,› Ax said. ‹I am alive, and perhaps even that is too much.›

Marco's chest tightened. He couldn't help but think -- finally, Ax was there with the rest of them in the black sea of trauma. He'd made it out of the war in one piece, more whole than anyone, but now he was as broken as the rest of them. Even Andalite warriors shattered under enough stress. There was something cynically comforting in that. Not that Marco was happy about it, but it made Ax easier to understand.

“I know what you mean,” Marco said. “But alive is enough for me.”

‹My whole crew is dead because of my decision,› Ax said. ‹How can I live with this? How can I face their families?›

Marco shook his head. “All you can do is continue to move forward.”

Ax recognized his own words. Marco crossed his arms, feeling vulnerable as he watched Ax’s stalk eyes look him over from head to toe. Marco hadn’t exactly gotten to follow his usual beauty maintenance routine on the _Rachel_. In all honesty, he’d let himself go -- his hair was unmanageably long, he’d lost weight, and the circles under his eyes looked like special effects makeup. Between the two of them, Marco looked more like he’d just escaped a hostage situation than Ax. And yeah, six months trapped _On the Good Ship Lorazepam_ wouldn’t have been Marco’s first choice. 

Ax put his handheld computer down on his workstation and crossed the length of the scoop, mentally moving aside the partition that led to his sleeping area. Marco followed tentatively, hanging back beside the partition wall. More of the string light flowers came on in that part of the scoop when he entered, as if they were motion-activated. Ax traced his hand along a wall, and a panel opened, revealing some hidden storage space. Marco watched, fascinated, as Ax pulled out a bed roll, stabilizing it with his tail blade as he placed it on the ground. Marco could have cried with relief as he watched Ax pull out a pillow and a blanket.

‹Are you going to help?› Ax asked, bending down a bit awkwardly to untie the straps that secured the plush mat into a roll.

“I was waiting for a formal invitation into your bedchamber,” Marco said sardonically. 

He knelt next to the bedroll, undid the tie on the other side, and rolled it out flat. Marco hadn’t gotten to lie down since the _Rachel_ , since before they rescued Ax. He crawled onto the mat and collapsed into it. Ax tossed the pillow and blanket haphazardly onto Marco’s head.

“Why do you even have a bed?” Marco asked, straightening out the blanket and pulling the pillow under his chest to prop himself up.

Ax folded his legs underneath his body and lay alongside the bed, sweeping his tail around himself the way he did when he felt insecure. ‹I was always serious that I wanted you to stay with me. I have a better setup in my primary residence.›

Ax turned a stalk eye back toward his living area. One by one, the lights along the floor and ceiling extinguished. He engaged the partition wall, and it closed three-quarters of the way and became a cloudy, semitransparent dark blue.

Marco dug his hands into the pillow, staring down at it. “I’ve thought a lot about what I could’ve done. If I’d compromised, maybe none of this would have happened.”

‹I asked too much of you. You already compromised more than you should have had to,› Ax said. ‹I am not ready to address our relationship though. I’m comforted by your presence. That is all I have right now.›

“It’s enough.” Marco was feeling the heavy waves of exhaustion even more acutely now that he was lying down. “Would you want to… I mean, you don’t have to, but if you morphed human, we could sleep together?”

‹I was unconscious for six days. I have no interest in sleep,› Ax said. ‹And I… I would prefer not to morph human for now.›

“Why?”

‹Andalites have a natural instinct toward calm optimism. I already feel like I am being crushed. I fear I would not tolerate having a bleak human brain right now.›

Marco frowned and placed a hand flat against Ax’s side. Fine shivers gave way to shuddering quakes under Marco’s touch. Marco knew there was nothing he could do or say, so he brushed his fingers through the trembling fur along Ax’s flank until Marco faded into sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

_December 2002  
3970.3.135_

There were clothes on the floor, the bed, the top of the dresser, spilling out of the dresser, and for some reason, on the kitchen counter. There were clothes everywhere but in Marco’s suitcase, which was kind of a problem since he was supposed to be meeting Ax in an hour to board the _Alucan_ and spend two weeks on Andalite with him. 

Sure, there _had_ been clothes in the suitcase, and then Marco had questioned himself -- what’s the weather like on Andalite? Would they be more or less scandalized by flip-flops? Would they appreciate his ironically large sunglasses or would they think he was half-morphed to insect? Did he need stronger UV protection on a planet with two suns? Would they know he was famous? Would he be able to navigate their society without making a fool of himself or ruining Ax’s life? Would they think of him as a half-sentient sideshow, Prince Aximili’s clever human pet? Would he need two bottles of anti-frizz serum or just one?

He’d basically packed and torn his suitcase apart three times in the last two days, even though he’d had dinner with Ax the night before and told him he was totally ready to go. Could’ve left right then, he said. Maybe he should have gone ahead and boarded the Alucan and taken a tranquilizer because at this point his pulse was throbbing in his throat so hard he could barely breathe.

The sun was setting over the ocean, and he watched the colors shift from blue to orange over the horizon, setting the clouds on fire in pink and red. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his ocean of a bed, surrounded by islands of piled clothing. Pitching forward off the bed, he padded out onto the balcony. 

The warm breeze hit his face like a splash of water, and he realized, looking out over the ocean and tasting salt on the air, that he wasn’t going to go. He gripped the rails of the balcony, leaning down so his head was pressed between his upper arms, looking at his feet. He pulled up and arched his back, taking in the slow pass of the scales of pink clouds.

He wasn’t going to go.

The coast spread out before him. The Pacific lapped up the narrow bar of sand, endless in its expanse until it met the sky in a clean line. Marco leaned over the balcony, projecting himself into the ocean, knowing better than anyone the horrors in its abyss. That the ocean wasn’t infinite at all. That, despite thousands of years of civilization, people only knew a drop of its mysteries. Space? Space really was infinite.

Marco tried to silence the screaming in his mind that he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go back to space. But he couldn’t disappoint Ax.

He took a deep breath, trying to still the monster clawing at the back of his sternum. Another lungful of salt and sea and brine. The distinct scent of his particular patch of Earth. When had he gotten so attached to this planet that he didn’t want to leave? Must have been some point in the middle of saving it that it started to feel like his. His home, something that belonged to him and that he also belonged to, something that he wouldn’t let the Yeerks have. Something that he also didn’t want the Andalites to take.

Maybe he blamed the Andalites, on some level, that he couldn’t deal with this. After all, both times he’d traveled to space -- to Leera and the Hork-Bajir homeworld -- had been the Andalites’ fault. Both had them dealing with characteristically humble, easygoing Andalites, who were always also super trustworthy. Even now that Andalites had been coming to Earth for two years and Marco had hung out with Ax’s crew, he still felt like Ax and Mertil were really the only decent Andalites he’d ever met. How could Ax expect him to deal with a whole planet of them?

Marco laid his options out before him, weighing what would happen with each choice. If he didn’t go -- what? Ax would be pissed. But probably not as pissed as he was about _Firefly_ getting canceled. Long-term consequences? Probably not. If he went -- he only had endless questions. Unknown possibilities. Uncertainty. Risks. 

Reckless. 

Why did Ax want it so much? Ax doing human things wasn’t that important to Marco -- it was just convenient. It was easy. It was what Ax _liked_ and _wanted_. Marco accompanying him to Andalite was the opposite of those things. Logistically, what would he even eat? Would they go out together, playing their same old game of “not together in public” but on hard mode? On a high-stakes mode that threatened everything Ax had built? Marco couldn’t figure out why Ax wanted this.

Ax was a captain and a prince now, but that didn’t mean he always made good calls. You only had to talk to Menderash for like five minutes to hear all about it, probably with humiliating examples and bullet points. Marco cared about Ax, but the fact of the matter was, he was a natural follower. Ax had a strong sense of right and wrong. He didn’t have a strong sense of… well, common sense. Or self-preservation. So sometimes it was best to take the decisions out of his hands.

He went back inside, rooted around in his pile of morphing clothes -- tight jeans or leggings? Blue t-shirt? Andalites like blue. Long sleeves? Tank top? Would he even be morphing on Andalite? Didn’t matter now. Had never mattered. Wouldn’t ever matter.

Marco stripped. He pulled on a pair of bike shorts, like old times -- old old times before they could morph real clothes -- and a t-shirt then jogged out to the beach before he could change his mind again. He needed to stop asking questions. He needed things to be simple. He needed not to worry anymore.

The sand changed from soft and yielding under his feet to hard and cold as he walked down to the water. The tide lapped at his feet then his ankles. He waded in further until the water hugged him up to his chest. He wasn’t going to change his mind. He never intended to go. He’d agreed through his teeth, but it was always going to end here, with him ghosting away like a coward, waiting for Ax’s reaction, then smoothing it over like always. Marco didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. Now he just needed to stop questioning it.

The changes felt slow to start, but maybe that was just Marco, just the world dilating and slowing down around how fast his heart was beating. Maybe it was that the warm breeze rustling his hair was a shock against the cold ocean pressing in around him. But the changes came, and eventually the dolphin brain pushed the questions away.

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.67_

Marco woke to the stale, lethargic feeling of having slept way too long. Ax was obviously no longer next to him. He blinked up at the ceiling, which had been cleared into a huge skylight over the whole scoop. The light from Andalite’s two suns was diffused through the thick clouds in the gold sky. Marco watched the reddish swirls move languidly over the scoop, wondering for the first time what made the sky that color.

He studied the sky until he realized what had awakened him in the first place -- a hushed voice drifting in from the living quarters. Not a thought-speak voice but a real, audible sound. Marco sat up, stretched, and tried futilely to comb his hair out with his fingers. Ax’s simple bed had been way more comfortable than Marco expected, and he probably could have snoozed for another few hours if not for all the light shining on his face and the creepy whispers.

Marco stood, stretched some more, and straightened his shirt. He left the bed in disarray and walked into the main part of the scoop. He was unsurprised to see Jake, his arms crossed, talking quietly to Ax. Tobias was perched on Ax’s tail. At Jake’s feet -- Marco could have cried -- was Marco’s Gucci overnight bag.

“Jake, I could kiss you!” Marco ran over and grabbed the leather handles. He hugged the bag to his chest like it was his favorite teddy bear.

“Please don’t.” 

Marco looked down at his bag and then back up at Jake, lifting a brow. “Did you look in here?”

“I put your datapad and notes in it for you.” Marco could tell Jake was trying not to be awkward, but the pink blooming over his neck and ears gave him away.

“Yeah well, now you know who to ask if you need condoms.” Marco said. The easiest way to prove you weren’t embarrassed about something was to embarrass someone else.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose the way he did during the war. Tobias puffed his chest feathers up. “Like I wouldn’t have already known,” Jake deadpanned.

Marco carried his bag back behind the partition, the prospect of clean clothes making him a little lighter on his feet. “I’m changing clothes, talk loud enough for me to hear. Feel free to come back here if you want a show.”

“I was just telling Ax that we checked on Menderash this morning. His right wrist and several fingers are broken, as well as some ribs. All he said about it was ‘they are stupid, I’m left-side dominant,’ so I guess he’s recovering fine,” Jake said. “He was annoyed we forgot to tell him Ax is awake last night.”

Marco came out from behind the partition in fresh jeans and a new t-shirt, twisting his hair up into a sloppy bun. “We kind of had a lot going on, and it’s not like he was in the best shape either.”

‹Did he say anything about me?› Ax asked, like they were in high school and he was asking about his crush.

‹You should go see him,› Tobias answered. ‹He put up with Marco for six months to save you.›

“That’s true,” Marco agreed. Marco made eye contact with Ax. “No one ever really knows what Menderash is thinking, but I don’t think he’s mad at you.” 

Ax broke the contact and looked down at his hooves, his stalk eyes warily scanning the scoop. Marco crossed his arms and frowned. Helplessness crawled down his spine, and that made him restless. He needed to do something, but there was nothing he could do. They did the rescuing, the straightforward “simple” part. Now they had to deal with the aftermath. The messy part. Marco was willing to bet Andalite therapists weren’t the best.

‹Ax-man, you wanna go for a run with me? Flying on homeworld is truly excellent,› Tobias suggested.

Ax looked at Tobias with his main eyes, and Marco saw a shift -- a softening of his eyes, a rise in his tail. ‹Yes, I would like that,› he said. ‹Pr -- Jake, can --› Marco felt his mouth twist into a smirk as Ax struggled with his impulse to ask Jake if he could.

Jake saw it too, and a wistful half-smile brushed his lips for just a second. “It’s fine, go.”

Ax relaxed. ‹Thank you. We will return shortly.› They departed up the ramp leading out of Ax’s scoop.

Marco exhaled deeply, his high level of tension subsiding into a heavy feeling, like a sigh that he had to hold in. He looked up at Jake who was studying him, his deep-set, fretted eyes penetrating.

“What?” Marco asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing. He’s just not doing well,” Jake said.

“Canny observation, fearless leader,” Marco said sardonically. “How’d you _think_ he was going to be doing after… after _that_?”

Jake shook his head. “What about you? You’ve been pretty out of it since we rescued him.”

“Do I need to remind you that we just did a mission last night? I think I did alright, all things considered.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You think I can’t tell when you’re deflecting? I know you can do missions when you’re compromised.”

“Fair,” Marco admitted. “I mean, yeah. I’d be better if I was on the beach surrounded by models, but this is fine.”

“Okay.” Jake held his hands out, palms open, surrendering. “You don’t have to talk to me. What about you and Ax?”

Marco gave Jake the fish-eye and mocked, “‘You don’t have to talk to me,’ he says, before asking an intensely personal question.”

“ _Marco_ ,” Jake said, and suddenly he was Jake the General and Marco fell into line.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s been through a lot. I’m just… gonna be here for him, and I guess we’ll figure it out.” Marco glared at the ground, scuffing his big toe sullenly against the floor of the scoop. He hated when Jake did that. He didn’t do it much -- neither of them really needed to be sixteen again.

“Okay, thank you,” Jake said. “That’s another thing we need to talk about. What’s your plan?”

“My plan?” 

“We’ve been here the equivalent of two weeks, man. I know you’ve been in a daze, but the rest of us have been getting antsy. I’ve talked to the Earth liaison Prince Caysath, and he’s shipping out in a few days. We’re going to be going with him.”

“Oh,” Marco said, suddenly feeling like he had brain freeze. “What about the _Rachel_?” 

Jake shrugged. “It was never our ship.”

“What are the Andalites going to do with it?” Marco felt oddly protective of the Yeerk ship that had been his home and his prison for six months. After all, he’d spent less time in some apartments when his dad was having trouble holding down a job. 

“Marco, is that really the point?” Jake asked.

“What’s _your_ point?” 

“You don’t have to go,” Jake said. “If you wanted to stay with Ax or whatever, you can wait until Prince Caysath comes back. He makes trips less often than Ax did when he had that job apparently, but I think maybe Ax had some kind of like, personal attachment to Earth.”

“Funny, Jake,” Marco deadpanned. “You’ve really improved at the whole joke thing. I think I might have felt ten percent of a laugh coming on.”

“Think about what you want to do,” Jake said, ignoring Marco. “You don't have to choose right now. And three Andalite days is still a pretty long time. So talk to Ax, make sure you know what you want.”

“Wow, you say that like it's so easy,” Marco muttered. 

Marco warily scanned Ax’s scoop. The clear dome showing alien sky overhead, the compressed clay floor and walls, the bioluminescent floral vines, the gentle fountain in the rounded corner. Could he make a place like this home, even for a little while? Could he live like an alien the way he’d expected Ax should be able to? He hadn't even wanted to visit Andalite, much less stay for some undetermined period. 

He supposed it depended on Ax, but Marco could hardly expect him to logically sort out his feelings after being possessed by some sick body collector. Marco raked his fingers into the top of his hair and twisted them into a fist, pulling his forehead tight. 

He didn't know. He needed time.

Thankfully, Jake changed the subject to something less stressful. Maybe it was more stressful to Jake. Jake had wrangled some poor Andalite into helping him use the Andalite version of the internet to catch up with the NBA playoffs. Marco had been helping him follow until the Finals when they were on the Rachel. It turned out the Lakers had lost four out of five championship games, so Jake ended up regretting even bothering. 

“At least Kobe and Shaq cleaned up on individual points,” Jake lamented, just as Ax and Tobias returned, Tobias riding on the arc of Ax’s tail.

‹Tobias convinced me that waiting to see Menderash will only make it worse. I’m going to ‘get it over with,’› Ax announced.

Marco perked up. “Can I come? I get if you wanna see Ash alone, but I did just save his life and I wanna see if he acts like he owes me.”

‹I would advise you to continue breathing as normal,› Ax said. Jake looked, confused, at Marco, who mouthed “don't hold your breath.” ‹But of course you may accompany me. Tobias, Jake?›

‹We just got back from seeing him. But can I visit later?› Tobias asked. 

‹I would like that.› Ax turned his stalk eyes toward Jake. ‹I have a hearing to attend at Central Command tomorrow. I wonder if your team wouldn't like a tour of the base and then to share a meal with me?›

“Yeah, probably, but what kind of hearing?” Jake asked.

‹I’m told it is just to assess my fitness for duty and to take my official report of the events on the Intrepid. I have been assured I am not facing court martial or being held responsible for the deaths of my crew.› Ax added, ‹At this point.›

“They just give you like a day? If this is how they treat their heroes, I wouldn’t want to be an enemy,” Marco said.

‹I believe you did just witness what happens in that case,› Ax pointed out. 

“Fair. Okay, let’s go see our favorite persona non grata,” Marco suggested. 

“I’ll be at the alien hotel if you need me,” Jake said. “I guess they have… phones. Or something.”

‹And I’ll be flying, so just yell randomly in hopes of finding me,› Tobias joked. He was definitely in a better mood than he had been on the _Rachel_. 

They were all ready to leave, but none of them seemed willing to make the first move for the door. They stood facing each other, and it seemed to be hitting them all at once. At least it was hitting Marco. This was the first time they’d all been together since the end of the war, since Rachel’s funeral. Rachel and Cassie’s absences were palpable. This was as much of the team as would maybe ever be together again. Their family, reassembled but still broken. Forever broken.

Marco realized it was up to him to break the tension, otherwise the others could probably stand in quiet nostalgia forever. “I’m just gonna say what everyone’s thinking -- Andalite really needs a Del Taco franchise.”

‹There’s a Cinnabon and a McDonald’s in District Two,› Ax supplied helpfully. 

With the mood less heavy around them, Ax led their little procession out of his scoop and into the open air. It occurred to Marco that this was the first time he’d been outside on Andalite during the day. It was warm, a little humid but tolerable, with a light breeze smelling of salt, sage, and ozone. Marco shielded his eyes and looked up at the two suns. They each looked smaller than Earth’s sun (but Marco knew they were further away), seemed to cast white light instead of yellow, and were close enough together they looked like one star unless you squinted.

‹You are about to morph away any damage, but I feel like I must point out that staring into the suns is inadvisable,› Ax said dryly.

‹Marco’s not been outside,› Tobias said in a tone that sounded very like tattling.

Ax directed a penetrating look at Marco, who in turn glared at Tobias. ‹Not at all?›

“I mean, I went out last night, but yeah. You’ve been in a _coma_.”

‹Well.› Jake had morphed falcon. He took to the sky. ‹Later, guys.›

‹Yep, later.› Tobias spread his wings and flapped off. Ax’s tail flexed under Tobias’ effort and sprang back. Ax let the arc of his tail relax. Lower than his prince level, higher than it had been the night before. 

Ax was still staring at Marco with his main eyes, one stalk eye wary for danger, the other pointed up to the sky. 

“Are you annoyed that I haven't explored?” Marco asked. 

Ax smiled. ‹Perhaps mildly. I am not surprised you weren't interested in learning about homeworld. But as I said in the hospital, I would not have expected you to stay by my side either. Especially after my mother arrived.› 

“Ax. Your mom. Is a thousand times scarier than my mom. You don't get to ever say anything about my mom again.”

Ax pretended to ignore Marco. ‹I am not disappointed that I get to show you homeworld on my own terms.›

“Are you gonna take me on a magic carpet ride?”

‹No, I believe we will fly as usual,› Ax deadpanned.

“That was… an _Aladdin_ joke.”

‹I got it.› Ax’s smile deepened, and he started morphing. 

Marco followed as soon as he noticed, his familiar osprey changes setting in. Ax… Marco expected him to go harrier, but it was quickly apparent he wasn’t. His face jutted out way too far, his arms and front legs both formed sets of wings, and another set of wings spurted forth from his chest. When Ax finished his morph, he had six wings, two legs, a razor sharp beak, and fine, hairlike feathers. And, of course, four eyes, because two was never enough. Marco didn’t know why he was surprised Ax morphed a native bird, but he was. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t tell things were different -- the sky was red -- but it just underscored that things were really different. They took off, Ax moving like a cartoon dragon or some kind of long fish. His wings flapped like a crowd doing the wave. 

Because he couldn’t really think of anything to say, Marco said, ‹I remember when Visser Three morphed that bird.›

‹Yes.› A better icebreaker probably wouldn’t have involved Visser Three, but it was already weird that Marco even felt he needed to break the ice with Ax. ‹It’s a _kafit_. Obviously it makes more sense to morph superior homeworld birds while we are on homeworld. And the _kafit_ is the best of the three.›

‹Don’t let Tobias hear you talking smack about Earth birds,› Marco said. ‹Wait, only three birds? Total?›

‹Yes. The biodiversity on Earth is incredible. When I was liaison to Earth, I had a small staff of exobiology researchers who were studying the conditions that led to such high levels of genetic variation. They are fortunate they transferred to Prince Caysath’s crew when he took my place.›

‹Ax, it wasn’t your fault. Even if it was, don’t you think you paid for it? Your crew would have rather died than gone through what you did.›

‹And I wouldn’t have?› Ax said simply, quietly. 

Was it accusatory? Resentful? Marco didn’t _feel_ those things from Ax when he tried. Just resignation. Acceptance of the situation. Deep sorrow. There was no way Ax could have actually expected Marco to kill him. The fact that The One had brought it up meant Ax must have thought about it, maybe begged for it. But Marco couldn’t actually feel guilty for not doing it.

They fell silent again. Marco considered that if this was really the cycle they were going to fall into that he probably should just leave with everyone else. What good was he, really, if Ax was this broken? Marco had already tried to fix Jake for years, and that had _certainly_ worked out well. If Ax was like Jake, Marco would just feel like he was throwing himself at a wall over and over. It was stupid to be mad at the wall when you were the one hitting yourself.

‹It’s fortuitous we’re here together in the spring,› Ax said, as if making an observation. ‹The _khalla_ grass surrounding Theyfla is some of the most beautiful on homeworld.›

Marco looked down at the grass below them. It just looked like grass. It was bluer than it was green, but if Ax thought Marco was going to be impressed by blue grass, they really had been apart too long. ‹It sure is grass.›

‹You know I’m no discerning patron of the arts, but even I appreciate the work they do here,› Ax said, sounding almost indignant.

Marco continued to look. With osprey eyes, he could see every individual blade swaying in the persistent breeze. Looking closely, he saw a slight variation in color, possibly a pattern? But it was so subtle, Marco could barely see it, let alone appreciate its artistry. ‹Does it make a picture? I know you’ve always said humans don’t appreciate subtlety, but you’re making me feel like my osprey needs glasses.›

‹Are you serious?› Ax paused. ‹Of course. Earth morphs see a different spectrum of light. You can’t see the _khalla_ art. That’s disappointing.›

Marco thought of the barely-defined paths in the city. ‹You know, that makes a lot of sense. I didn’t know your vision was different. Like, you see more colors? Different colors? Are Andalites not blue to Andalites?›

‹We are blue. Possibly we are more shades of blue. Will you acquire something native before you go so I can show this to you?›

Before you go. So Ax didn’t even question that Marco might stay. Marco supposed it was unsurprising he thought that, since his own unwillingness to come with Ax to Andalite had pretty much drawn a straight line to the end of their relationship. Maybe Ax didn’t even want him to stay. Maybe it wasn’t on offer, and the decision was made for Marco. Was he disappointed?

Something about the open, impatient way Ax made the request, like it was urgent he see this grass art, reminded Marco of being dragged between Cinnabon and Sbarro. ‹You really think I’ll be impressed? It’s just grass.›

‹Is the Leaning Tower of Pisa just a crooked building?›

‹Yeah, pretty much.›

Ax sighed in his mind. Marco would have smirked if he’d had a mouth. ‹You have many merits, but I should have known this wouldn’t be one.›

‹Isn’t it something we have in common?› Marco said with mock innocence. Marco was at least somewhat encouraged that even when Ax was riddled with grief, he was still flirting. It was more than could be said for Jake. Not that Jake had ever reciprocated or even properly _noticed_ Marco’s flirting. Obviously, that’s why Marco had picked Ax in the end.

‹Theyfla is the largest metropolitan area on homeworld,› Ax explained. 

‹Underwhelming,› Marco interrupted.

‹Possibly, compared to Earth cities,› Ax allowed. ‹In spring, people come from all across the Continent to see the _khalla_ in full bloom, as it is now. There is a major festival centered around the blooming period. Probably half the permanent population here are plant artists who dedicate their lives to it.›

‹Classic dumb human moment, huh?› 

‹Honestly, it is refreshing. This is District One, but I am from District Two. This is not my ‘hometown,’ as it were. I’m amused you are unimpressed.›

‹What’s your hometown like? You’re a Sox fan instead of a Yankees fan?›

‹Theyfla is dedicated to tradition. It is a military city, and they prefer to maintain the status quo. Naraya is about culture and progress. This is why Theyfla has resisted the influence of Earth culture, but if you went to Naraya, they would be open to your Del Taco proposal.›

‹I’d like to see it.› Marco tried to sound sincere, but in truth he was only half-interested. It did seem like Naraya was more his speed than Theyfla, but Marco was more interested in laying the groundwork for his in.

‹I would like to show you,› Ax replied cautiously.

Marco noticed they were flying over the corkscrew forest from the night before. In the light of day, Marco could more clearly appreciate the truly weird trees, which had craggy, knurled green trunks with tendrils that were deep orange at the root and tipped in rosy pink. 

‹How long until we get to Ash?› Marco asked.

‹Not long,› Ax said. ‹I notice you gave Menderash a nickname.›

‹Yeah, he even lets me call him that to his face,› Marco bragged. ‹We’re tight.›

‹I am still unsettled that he chose to become a _nothlit_. Even for him, that’s extreme. I regret that he felt like he had to make that decision for my sake.›

‹You know that Ash does whatever he wants. He doesn’t want to be human. But for sure once he decided that’s what he was doing, there was no stopping him.›

‹Temerity is only an asset until it is not.› Ax sighed.

‹At least he’s still alive.›

‹Unlike the rest of my crew.›

With that, Ax dipped down his spear of a beak, his kafit morph seeming to flow into the dive like a flying river. There was something dangerous and elegant about the way it moved, like the trail left by a snake in the desert. Marco also spilled air from his wings and dropped, following Ax to a small clearing that was impossible to see from the air. They demorphed, and Ax dispelled a hologram of a tree that camouflaged the safe house entrance. The narrow opening led into a shelter that was smaller and deeper than Ax’s apartment.

Menderash was alone inside, already pacing when they arrived. His right arm was restrained against his torso with filmy cloth wrapped several times around him. Presumably Andalites didn’t use casts or slings. He looked like he’d been cleaned up at least, but his face was still mottled with florid bruising. Any cuts he’d had the night before seemed to have been erased. 

He looked like he’d been doing laps in the small space, bracing himself with his left hand against the wall. He moved slowly, gingerly, but he was still Menderash, and he was restless. He stopped and glared at Ax.

‹The tide has receded, exposing my errors,› Ax started, clearly reciting the beginning of a ritual. 

“Don’t bother, Prince. I know you’ll be performing rituals of solace for weeks. I’m not dead; don’t waste your time on me. Unless you acknowledge my status as a _vecol_. If that’s the case, you’re performing the incorrect ritual.”

‹Do you want to perform the isolation ritual?› Ax asked, shifting awkwardly.

“No. I have done my duty, I have no intention of taking up another. You are safe, for now. And I no longer have a place on homeworld.”

‹You want passage to Earth.›

“I do.”

‹Has my mother offered her assistance?›

“Forlay is no prince.”

‹I will see what I can do,› Ax conceded. He hesitated. ‹No one wanted this, but I am relieved you are alive.›

“Of course you are, Prince. And I you.” Marco got the feeling that they were sharing in something vaguely un-Andalite. Menderash was completely without honor. Ax would have earned more honor in death. Marco wasn’t sure what exactly they were expressing in subtext. Maybe it was just straightforward, for once.

“What are you going to do on Earth?” Marco asked since it didn’t feel like he was interrupting some moment.

Menderash shifted his gaze to Marco, as if he’d only just noticed he was there. “What are you going to do here?”

Marco sputtered, like Menderash just poured ice water down the back of his shirt. “I -- is that an answer?”

“Is it not? I do not belong on Earth. You do not belong here. And yet I suspect we will survive.”

Ax stared at both of them at the same time, main eyes on Marco. ‹Does Menderash know something I do not?›

“He seems to know something I don’t, actually,” Marco muttered.

“Of course. Continue to pretend you haven’t been a sulking wretch. It isn’t at all intolerable.”

“Ax, is having a sadistic First Officer really that good for crew morale? Not that I’d ever question your judgment.” 

‹’Good cop, bad cop’ is a surprisingly effective way to run a ship. The fact that my crew were scared of Menderash made them accept my authority when they may not have otherwise. I wouldn’t replace him if I didn’t have to.›

“You will not have to.” Menderash attempted a shrug, froze, then relaxed with a shudder. His lack of expression while clearly in pain made Marco cringe for him.

‹You know you won’t be able to serve anymore,› Ax said reticently.

“Of course. Do you think you will? High command will take any excuse to ground you now. You may not be a criminal or a vecol, but you will not be found fit to fly.”

Ax’s tail fell a few degrees. The fur along his spine twitched, begrudging. ‹Marco needs food. Do you have need of anything?›

“Only for you to get me off this planet.”

‹I will let you know,› Ax said. He turned toward the exit. ‹I am grateful to you.›

“Bye, Ash. You’re welcome for saving you,” Marco said snidely.

Marco followed Ax out and watched him stretch out his spine like a restless cat. He’d already had a run with Tobias, but Marco could tell he was practically vibrating with tension.

“Is Ash right? They’re not going to let you leave?”

‹Probably. That’s what the hearing tomorrow is about. I suspect I will be grounded at least until the irregularities in my neural readings normalize.›

Marco crossed his arms and pulled up some grass with his toes. It felt weird -- more stretch, more snap than Earth grass. “If Menderash is right and I wanted to stay, would you also want that?”

Marco watched Ax lift a front hoof, then a back hoof. Anxious fidgeting. ‹That’s a rash decision.›

“Is it really? Because I just spent seven months chasing you, and I’m not about to spend three days with you and then maybe never see you again.”

‹That is an exaggeration, but I see your point. It will be difficult for you to be happy here.›

“I’ll deal. Do you want me here?” Marco looked up at Ax. They were on his homeworld, standing outside a secret resistance shelter. All four of his eyes were on Marco. More important than safety, than caution.

‹Yes.›


	13. Chapter 13

_June 2004  
3971.1.68_

The sky was closer to the color of blood than the less macabre gold of midday. Marco guessed it was early -- Ax practically had to drag himself out to the stream to do his morning ritual. Marco was uncharacteristically peppier than Ax, who was normally an insufferable morning person. Marco had crashed three times the day before and was feeling unusually rested. Ax _was_ going to an unholy cross between a job evaluation, a physical exam, and a legal proceeding, but it was probably the naps that had made the difference.

Ax left Marco waiting outside the Central Command tower. It had been an intimidating fixture from afar, but standing at the foot of it felt different altogether. Obviously it wasn’t as tall as a skyscraper back on Earth, but it was far and away the tallest building he’d seen on Andalite -- larger than the Dome ship that was parked nearby, the dome like a towering parasol casting a shadow over half the port. The Central Command spire was even more imposing than that. It was a tail blade in opaque crystal, perfectly erect, stabbing up into the dark red sky.

Marco had nothing to do but observe and mess around on the portable computer he’d brought while he waited for Ax. Marco was comfortable, even empowered, on American military bases. He never felt like he was the most important person in Hollywood, but on a military base, he was _important_. Not so on Andalite. Marco noted almost every warrior and technician had a stalk eye on him. Everyone who entered the spire stared him down. Even though he’d stopped watching them and was just messing around on the Andalite news stream, his skin was crawling with the awareness of being watched by a hundred squirmy stalk eyes. 

Marco was in the middle of absorbing a ponderous and uninformative think piece about Ax’s hearing when a wave of thought-speak commotion passed through the base. It was a weird sort of chatter, the thought-speak of a hundred Andalites at once. Not quite like the uproar of voices but a scrambled confusion of half-thoughts and snatches of phrases. 

He did catch one thing, echoed at least ten times: Jacob Berenson had arrived.

Jake looked shifty as he approached Marco, like a guy who’d just gone through wardrobe for the first time and was about to do his first TV interview. In fact, Marco had seen Jake in that very situation, so he had a point of reference.

“They recognize you,” Marco pointed out when Jake sidled up warily beside him. “Apparently I’m nobody, but _Jacob Berenson_ , that’s a face you can remember.”

“I’ve seen you do chapstick ads, Marco, people know your face.”

“Jake. It was a Burt’s Bees ad. Why do you think I morphed a bee? Oh right, who could forget that classic ChapStick bee character?”

“Whatever. You’re more famous than me. I couldn’t even land a chapstick ad. You know, my dream.”

“Yeah you could -- don’t undersell your kissability.” Jake side eyed Marco. “To the American public, of course. And apparently the Andalite military. They’ve been glaring at me like I’m someone’s kid who came to the office because the babysitter canceled. But you? You’re _Jacob Berenson_.”

“I’m sorry you’re not famous enough on Andalite, _Marco Castillo_ ,” Jake said sardonically. 

“Thank you, see? Now I feel like you get me. You have to come down to the level of the little people once in awhile.”

“But I just can’t shrink that far,” Jake said. Marco snorted. “Any news on this hearing?”

“Nah,” said Marco. “Ax has been in there for… who knows. At least a couple of our hours.”

“‘Our hours’? What’s come over you?” 

Marco grinned. “I’ve been assimilated.”

“Well, resistance _is_ futile.” Jake looked around. “Kinda weird how there’s more people here than in the town.”

Marco shrugged. “Andalites.” Marco looked over his shoulder at the tower. “Ax invited everyone for a tour after he’s done. Any takers?”

“Jeanne’s on her way, of course.”

“Of course,” Marco scoffed. 

“Tobias said he was coming, but I’m pretty sure just to make Ax happy. Santorelli’s busy so we’re going to meet up with him later.”

“ _Busy_?” Marco said. “How is he _busy_? Did he take up Andalite knitting? He signed up for an Andalite spin class?”

Jake shrugged. “What can I say, some people have hobbies besides watching themselves on TV.” Jake added, “You should bring up spinning to Ax as the next big human culture thing. Andalites on bikes. Picture it. Regular bodies or human morphs. Either way it’s comedy gold.”

Marco grinned. “You sure you really wanna go, big guy? Seems like something in the air here makes you kinda punchy.”

“Yeah, I’m going stir-crazy.” 

“Well, wish _me_ luck then,” Marco muttered.

“You decided to stay, then?” Jake’s tone was completely unsurprised.

“Depends on the results of the hearing.”

“That sounds like you know something,” Jake said. 

Marco didn't have a chance to answer before Jeanne joined them. She was wearing a dress and makeup, which Marco hadn't seen her wear since the day they met. 

“Trying to snag yourself a strong Andalite warrior before you go?” Marco teased. 

Jeanne made a sound of disgust. “Why can't a woman just look nice without men assuming it's for them?”

“To be fair, I assumed it was for _them._ ” Marco waved at the warriors prancing back and forth between their stations as if they were graded on how quickly they performed their duties. 

Jeanne rolled her eyes. “Are we waiting for Prince Aximili?”

“And Tobias, presumably,” Marco said. Jeanne jerked her thumb upward and Marco followed her gesture, squinting. He could just make out the silhouette of a hawk circling almost impossibly high overhead. “Okay, then yeah. Just Ax.”

Jeanne surveyed the base, curling her lip and arching an eyebrow. Very French of her. “They're certainly not shy about staring.”

“Oh, haven't you met famous hero _Jacob Berenson_?” Marco gestured elaborately at Jake, who rolled his eyes. “I think he did a few things during the war. I don't know; I wasn't there. I'm just your plain old nobody alien.”

“Jealousy suits you,” Jeanne said. 

“A knife to the stomach!” Marco doubled over, fell to his knees, and tugged at the edge of Jake’s shirt. He froze in the middle of miming his own death when an Andalite warrior approached them with all the rigid seriousness of a soldier at attention. 

‹Prince. Does your companion need medical attention?›

“Uh.” Jake tugged Marco up by his elbow. Marco grinned up at Jake, whose ears were red. “No. He's fine.”

‹Can I do anything for you?›

“No! No. Uh, just, back to work? That's fine.” Jake glared down at Marco. 

The Andalite was about to turn and go back to his post when he suddenly stiffened even straighter and lowered his tail marginally. ‹Prince Aximili.›

This guy must be having quite the day to get to talk to Prince Jake and Prince Aximili in the same place. On cue, thought-speech like a swarm of bees filled Marco’s head. Every Andalite on the base had stopped doing his job to stare at the two heroes together. 

‹Everyone, get back to work,› Ax commanded with more stern authority than Marco had ever heard from him. Marco rubbed his arm where Jake had just let him go and was surprised to feel goosebumps. ‹You too, Orlathan.› 

The Andalite who had approached them bowed his head curtly and bounded back to his post. Ax smiled at Jake, but Marco could tell it was forced. His stalk eyes were slightly slack and pointed directly opposite each other. It was sort of a dazed expression Ax made when he was feeling overwhelmed.

‹It’s an honor to meet you,› Ax said to Jeanne. ‹Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill. Menderash spoke highly of you in his report.›

“Jeanne Gerard, and the honor is certainly mine, Prince.” So Jeanne could be charming when she wanted to be. “In truth, I’m surprised to hear Menderash regarded me well.”

‹He has great respect for someone who will do quality work regardless of feedback,› Ax said. ‹That is not, for instance, what he said of Marco.›

Marco grinned. “Like what, he said he needed to provide me with excessive praise?”

Ax snorted lightly. ‹He said you responded best to threats of violence mixed with harsh critique and private exhibitions of mild fraternity.›

Tobias flapped down gently onto the base of Ax’s blade. ‹Why am I not surprised at that vaguely depraved summary?›

“Because it’s Menderash,” Jeanne answered.

“Because it’s _Marco_ ,” Jake corrected. 

‹It is both,› Ax agreed, dipping back into his authoritative tone.

“Wow,” Marco said flatly. “Are we ever getting a tour of this place, now that I know what everyone really thinks of me?”

‹I didn’t get a turn,› Tobias threatened airily.

“Please, Ax, my ego can’t handle a burn from Tobias.” 

‹Follow me.› Ax beckoned.

He took them through the entrance, passing through a full body scanner himself and motioning for everyone else to wait in the antechamber. He spoke to a technician who was standing at a panel station near the entrance. The technician’s body language was respectful, but Marco could tell he was acting put-upon, like Ax was making an unreasonable security request. A couple minutes later, though, Ax motioned them through. Tobias fluttered from Jeanne’s arm back to Ax’s tail. 

When they crossed into the main body of the tower, Marco’s gaze was drawn up so high, he actually lost his balance. He wondered how many Andalites noted his slight stumble and felt smugly correct in their clumsy human confirmation bias. 

The narrow center of the rotunda was open all the way up to the spire. The curved pinnacle of the tower was clear and seemed to be demarcated with a system of astronomical measures. The suns were just barely touching the edge of the transparent ceiling and intersected with a string of symbols that were too high for Marco to see in detail. 

All the way up the tower, the outer layer of the rotunda was lined with dozens of levels of what Marco assumed were offices. The walls were variant opacity and glass-like, as seemed to be standard in Andalite architecture. On some levels, the entire ring was blocked out in silvery refraction. On other levels, some rooms were totally clear and Marco could see Andalites working at terminals. Other rooms were partially shaded like tinted glass. The overall effect was a glass mosaic spiraling up to the peak of the tower. 

Marco watched, fascinated, as Andalites engaged transparent force field platforms as elevators to lift them to their desired floor and sweep them across levels from office to office. Ax led them to a terminal along the side of the rotunda and engaged the force field control to carry them all up to his desired floor. Marco sucked in a quiet gasp and only his need to preserve his manly dignity kept him from grabbing Jake to steady himself. 

“It’s probably good Santorelli didn’t come,” Jeanne observed as they rose. “He wasn’t even able to go up to the Observation Decks in the Empire State Building.”

“How long have you and Sarge known each other?” Marco asked pointedly.

She turned a wilting glare on him and replied curtly, “A while.”

Something about the coolness of her tone sent a shiver down Marco’s spine. “More than four years, a while?” 

She narrowed her eyes. “You may want to be more judicious while we are so high up on an open air platform.”

“Watch it,” Marco said. His facetious lilt made it clear that he was dropping it. “I respond best to threats of violence, remember?” Jeanne made an exasperated sound.

The platform came to a gentle stop on the highest fully transparent level. At this height, Marco could more clearly see the delicate astronomical diagrams on the ceiling, silvery swoops of indecipherable Andalite script glinting against the suns’ light. An entrance opened fluidly for them and Ax stepped with confident grace from the platform into the outer division. The humans followed carefully. Not only was the internal wall of this level transparent, but Marco saw that the exterior wall was also translucent. The exterior of the building had all been one solid, opaque surface, therefore Marco assumed the outer wall behaved like one-way glass. The effect was sort of like walking on a building that was still under construction with the floors above and below complete. His brain was being tricked into thinking he could jump off either side of this room and fall. He thought it was odd that apparently Andalites preferred that to the simple feeling of being enclosed.

The floor Ax had brought them to was completely open, like a wide glass tunnel. Ax led them around the space so they could look out over the base, the city, and the ocean. They passed other Andalites, some of whom were on portable computers, apparently preferring to work in open space. Some of them were in small groups having private discussions while they lapped the building. A few were running around in a hurry and would occasionally stop and speak to other Andalites.

‹I am only authorized to show you the Promenade. Obviously, Central Command is the planetside headquarters of the military. The Erathli base, between the planet and our largest moon, is where most of the fleet is stationed, but this is where policies are negotiated and tribunals are held. It is also where the majority of intelligence staff and law enforcement work.› He added, ‹There are similar stations in Districts Two and Three, but this is the central hub.›

“So it’s basically your version of the Pentagon?” Jake surmised.

‹Precisely.›

He explained the various levels -- the bottom five were intelligence offices, the next ten were domestic security and law enforcement, several up from there were legal chambers, rooms for private hearings, administrative levels, and private offices for officials. He explained that the Andalites running around were arisths tasked with clerical duties and message delivery. 

Jeanne had the most questions, followed by Jake, but Tobias and Marco mostly stayed quiet. He couldn’t guess how Tobias felt, but Marco had a fairly sharp sense of unease. It only got worse the more Ax insinuated that the only law enforcement on Andalite were military police and that the intelligence agents had skin-crawling far-reaching authority.

Eventually Ax ran out of things to talk about and he brought them back down to the central chamber. He spoke to the security technician again, then led them back out through the scanner and outside onto the base. He added a few things about the various classes of ships present, paying special attention to the Dome ship _MeteorFlower_ which was being retrofitted with new fuel conversion cells. 

‹I am possibly the only military official who will give credit to our work with humans as being an impetus for technological innovation for us as well. I know better than anyone on homeworld the human capacity for creativity and resourcefulness. Our civilian scientists and engineers are invigorated by their collaborations. My mother thinks we are on the cusp of a cultural and scientific renaissance.›

‹You sound like you have reservations,› Tobias observed. 

‹I just hope the military continues to support progress.› Marco had watched Ax’s natural idealism diminish over the course of the war, then build back up throughout his tenure as prince. He spoke with renewed disillusionment. 

They were walking away from the base now and back into town. Many Andalites were milling about outside various commercial structures. Now that they were off the military base, there were more females around than males. Even though he’d seen plenty of Andalite tourists on Earth, the difference between military and civilian Andalites was striking, especially now that Marco could see them en masse in their natural environment. The civilian Andalites were so much closer to what Ax had always said Andalites were like. Closer to Ax, too.

“You never mentioned how your hearing went,” Jake observed. Good old Jake, he could always be counted on to broach a subject without realizing it was being avoided. He really did need Cassie’s sensitivity.

‹Ah,› Ax said reluctantly. ‹I have been placed on compulsory medical leave until summer. A bit more than six of your months. I will not lose my rank, but my fitness as a captain is under review. There are no pending investigations for what happened on the _Intrepid_ , so I will not face criminal charges or be held legally responsible for the deaths of my crew.›

“Culturally you are, though, right?” Marco guessed. “As their captain, it was your duty to protect them, and you’re honor-bound to carry that, right?”

Ax stopped walking and looked at Marco with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability. Marco wanted to make sure Jake understood exactly where Ax was at, though. ‹I specifically gave orders that resulted in the deaths of one hundred ten of my people. Just because I am not legally responsible for their deaths doesn’t mean I am not responsible.›

‹Everyone makes mistakes, Ax,› Tobias said gently. ‹You can’t blame yourself for a bad call.›

“Yes, he can,” Jake objected. He looked Ax in his main eyes. “A leader has to make decisions and you have to live with the consequences. Then you have to keep making them until you’re not a leader anymore. I’m not going to pretend to know what you’re going through. But you’re not alone. Don’t get caught up in what you’re feeling and forget that. I would know.”

‹Thank you.› The group fell into a somber silence for a few minutes as they walked a path only Ax could see. Presumably _khalla_ grass again. ‹Has everyone but Marco explored Theyfla sufficiently?›

‹Unless you’ve got some inside scoop about where all the cool parties are,› Tobias said.

‹Inside scoops,› Ax said simply.

‹Just… Just turn your blade around so I can fall on it, Ax-man,› Tobias groaned.

‹It has been six Earth hours since Marco ate,› Ax observed.

“You know, you don’t have to keep using ‘Marco is hungry,’ as an excuse. Just tell people you’re tired of them,” Marco commented.

‹I was going to ask if anyone else was hungry. I’m sure you’ve eaten at the bakery since it is the only option, but I know the staff and may be able to get them to make something that is not a baked good.› He added slyly, ‹But since Marco is not hungry, he doesn’t have to partake.›

Marco hadn’t eaten anything but pastries since they landed on Andalite. “Ax. I’ll owe you so many favors.”

‹Please,› Tobias begged. ‹Don’t elaborate.›

“I could eat,” Jeanne said. Jake agreed. Everyone but Marco knew where the bakery was, so Ax and by extension, Tobias fell back behind Jeanne and Jake, alongside Marco.

“Shouldn’t you be flying off now? What are you gonna eat at the bakery? Do they have a stock of Andalite mice for you?” Marco mostly-teased Tobias. “Wait. Are you eating alien rodents?”

‹Uh, something like that.› Tobias sounded embarrassed. Marco wondered again if something was going on between him and Jeanne. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed about eating rats in front of the rest of them. 

“Is that like, ecologically sound? Are you an invasive species?” 

‹Shut up, Marco. I can come out with you guys if I want.›

Jeanne and Jake led the group to a small, squat building. It was a soft shade of violet and the shape and proportion of a giant dewdrop. The surface was opaque and highly reflective, mirror-like to the point that Marco could see his bubbled reflection clearly. 

Everyone had stopped outside the entrance. Jake and Jeanne reached it first, but they idled in front of the shop, looking at Marco expectantly.

Marco lifted a brow and narrowed his eyes at Jake. “What are you waiting for? You need me to hold the door for you too, Dear Leader?”

“You’ve never been here before,” Jake pointed out. He was trying and failing to keep his usual serious expression; a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “I just want you to get the full effect.”

“Of… entering a bakery?” Marco was suddenly suspicious.

“An _alien_ bakery. Just go in, Marco,” Jake said.

Marco rolled his eyes, but he stepped forward. Reacting to his proximity like an automatic sliding door, the side of the bubble opened a round port big enough for two Andalites or three people to enter at once. 

Marco crossed the threshold, overwhelmed by a wave of warm, buttery bread smell before he could take in the visual of the bakery. And in fact, there was a major distraction that prevented Marco from fully appreciating his surroundings.

Santorelli was standing behind the counter. He was grinning, wearing an apron inscribed with the words “Roll With It” and an illustration of a rolling pin. 

Marco walked up to the counter and leaned forward toward him. “I have so many questions.”

Santorelli leaned back and put his hands on his hips, grinning even more broadly. “Hit me.”

‹Please do not strike each other in my shop,› said a relatively short, stoutly-built female Andalite. She crossed behind Santorelli with a tray of gorgeous cupcakes and muffins and began putting them away in a very Earth-like glass display. 

“One, you’re _working_ here? Two, are you working _for free_? Three, did you _pack_ a _novelty apron_ in case you found yourself in a situation like this?” Marco counted his points off on his fingers.

“Yes, to all of the above,” Santorelli said, sounding pleased with himself.

“You are the only person I know who would take an intergalactic vacation and get an unpaid part time job,” Marco deadpanned.

“It’s not work if it’s your passion.” 

“If you have to wear a hairnet, it’s work,” Marco said.

‹We will deeply regret the sergeant’s departure,› said the Andalite baker. ‹He has a more developed palate than the rest of my staff and eats far fewer raw ingredients.›

“I’m a model employee,” Santorelli bragged. “But this is going to be amazing for my resume, so I appreciate the opportunity, Kethra.” 

‹The opportunity was ours,› she replied sincerely.

“Isn’t this cute, humans and Andalites, working together, making cupcakes? It’s like a Hallmark movie,” Marco said. “Well, actually, if it was a Hallmark movie, I guess you’d be kneading the same ball of dough, then your hands would touch and you’d realize you’d been falling in love this whole time.”

Kethra, the Andalite baker, shuddered in disgust. Santorelli’s reaction was commensurate with hers.

Ax sidled up beside Marco and Marco felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He was acutely aware of being more or less sandwiched between his questionably-ex-boyfriend and his definitely-ex-fuckbuddy. It was more awkward because Ax was the only person there who didn’t know. 

‹Thank you for being open to this proposal, Kethra,› Ax said with courteous formality. Marco still wasn’t used to Ax’s “I am important among my people” bearing. Marco had seen him interact with his crew, and Ax never seemed to quite fill out his role as captain. But on his homeworld, Ax seemed a little more centered and confident. Like he’d grown into himself. It reminded Marco of his own relationship with fame, except it seemed like less of an act from Ax. It was definitely kind of hot.

‹Of course, Prince Aximili. Your support has always been a boon to our operation,› Kethra said graciously, smiling. Of course Ax had his fingers in the only human food establishment in the region. Obviously.

“Is something going on?” Marco looked between Ax and Santorelli, who both had oddly similar conspiratorial expressions.

‹Please have a seat,› Kethra implored. ‹We will have your food out momentarily.› She and Santorelli left through an opening that led to the back and closed up behind them.

Ax led Marco over to one of the three tables in the cafe, where Jake, Jeanne, and Tobias were already seated on tall stools that matched the standard Andalite table height. Marco took a seat and Ax stood beside him, folding his Andalite hands on the table in front of him. Marco looked at Ax, who still smiled knowingly, and Jake, who was still trying not to give anything away and failing. Tobias and Jeanne were composed, as usual, because one was a hawk and the other was an iceberg.

“Okay, what’s going on? Am I in an episode of _The Twilight Zone_?” Marco asked.

“I can’t believe he really hasn’t figured it out,” Jeanne muttered, looking askance at Tobias, who was perched on the stool next to her.

‹It’s sad, if you think about it. You know if he wasn’t completely disoriented, he wouldn’t shut up about it,› Tobias replied. Jake shook his head and sniffed out a small laugh.

“About _what_?” Marco crossed his arms. He didn’t mind being the butt of a joke as long as it was funny, but it was taking a long time to get to the punchline. Marco wasn’t used to being the last one to know something.

No one answered and Kethra came out with a set of twelve small plates and twelve forks. She laid two of each in front of everyone, even Tobias, plus one extra setting. She went back into the back and brought out a large bowl of salad which featured suspiciously colorful alien greens. Marco wrinkled his nose. Andalites. 

She set a plate piled high with tiny croissant sandwiches on the other side of the table. Marco wasn’t sure what kind they were. Egg salad? His stomach rumbled at the thought of eating something that wasn’t all carb and sugar, even if it was weird. He realized he’d have to get over it if he was really going to stay with Ax.

Kethra returned to the back of the shop. In short order, Santorelli came out, carrying a tall chocolate layer cake. He set it in front of Marco, who leaned forward to read “Happy Birthday Marco” written neatly in light blue frosting.

“Are you kidding me?” Marco felt his face burning and he shrank in his seat. They’d rescued Ax at the beginning of June. Each day on Andalite was sixty hours. They’d been there for… however many days. “Is it my actual birthday?” 

‹Your actual birthday was two of my days ago. Of course, they are everyone’s days,› Ax teased. He looked very pleased with himself. ‹You spent much of yesterday sleeping, and when I found out Sergeant Santorelli was volunteering here, your birthday seemed as good a reason as any to gather while everyone is still here.›

“This was _you_?” Marco said incredulously. “I expect this from you, Sarge, but _Ax_?” Marco thought about it. Ax hadn’t made a big deal of his birthday since he turned sixteen right before the end of the war. It hadn’t exactly been a cake situation. “Last time you did anything like this, Y2K was still relevant. Do you think my birthday is a leap year or something?”

Ax rolled his eyes -- an expression that still gave Marco a small thrill because Ax had picked it up from him. ‹An Andalite year is equivalent to four Earth years. How can humans possibly tolerate commemorating your own births so frequently?›

“Maybe because humans actually like to have fun and relax once in awhile,” Marco said. “But not me. I can’t stand surprise parties.”

Ax smiled mischievously. ‹I know.›

“Can we have cake or is there a requisite length of bickering we have to endure to have earned it?” Jeanne asked.

‹I’m pretty sure this is how they flirt, so _please_ serve the cake,› Tobias urged.

Santorelli reached forward to cut the cake and portion it out to Jake, Jeanne, Marco, and himself. He looked at Ax. “Are you going to have some?”

Ax shifted his hooves a bit. It was a subtle show of discomfort that probably only Marco picked up on. ‹I have already eaten. But thank you for your efforts. The cake looks… delicious.› 

“Listen, the look on his face was worth it.” Santorelli grinned. “I was more than happy to help.”

The humans passed the salad and sandwiches around, excited for fresh food. Everyone complimented Santorelli’s cake, which clearly thrilled him. Marco picked at the cake, torn. On one hand, he didn’t want Santorelli to think he didn’t like it. On the other, it was frankly disturbing to see Ax turn down chocolate cake, especially with everyone visibly enjoying it in front of him. Ax seemed to be holding it together, to the point that Marco couldn’t tell anything was wrong. But he clearly still didn’t want to morph human, even for cake.

The cake really _was_ good, though -- the layers were perfectly even with just the right proportion of frosting. It was so fluffy, it felt like it melted in Marco’s mouth, but was still incredibly rich and moist. Marco eventually finished his piece, managing only to cast a few guilty and concerned glances at Ax. Ax seemed content to enthusiastically explain the human ritual of birthday cakes to Kethra -- ‹Their traditional custom is to set them on fire!› ‹Humans are so destructive!› -- and discuss Tobias’ experiences exploring the Andalite homeworld. 

Even if Ax was struggling internally, even if he wasn’t really okay, he was able to put on a good show. He wasn’t like Jake. He wasn’t like Marco’s dad. Marco could work with that.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: There is sex in this chapter. Not a warning, but fyi Marco is trans and [here is a post about it.](http://acavatica.tumblr.com/post/159946616997/my-marco-is-trans-and-its-not-a-big-deal)

_June 2004  
3971.1.68_

Ax ran back to his scoop. Marco flew, keeping pace above him. There wasn't much to point out along the way, though Ax made a good effort to note the asparagus-like _derrishoul_ trees and the highlighter-orange, snaky _yarleeah_ creeper flowers. Marco made a good effort to feign interest. 

It wasn’t even midday when they arrived back, even though Marco already felt like he’d had a full day. Especially considering all he’d done for the last seven months was read spy reports and nap in front of inactive sensor and navigation stations. It felt like another life that he’d had a standard ten- to twelve-hour shooting day with PR commitments in the evening. No wonder Ax hadn’t been able to conceive of how Marco had lived like that, with almost no time to spare -- Marco couldn’t conceive of how Andalites filled even a single day. On Earth, Ax had been frustrated that he ever had to sleep because Earth days were so short. After all, needing to sleep every few days had really gotten in the way of Ax’s _General Hospital_ marathons. 

Marco demorphed outside the scoop and joined Ax, who was already inside. He was at his terminal, presumably checking his Andalite emails. Marco could tell from Ax’s body language that he’d been right -- Ax _had_ been putting on a show in public. The way his shoulders sagged and the shifting of his hooves reminded Marco of Mertil when they first met. You could see in an Andalite’s whole bearing when he was weighed down by shame.

Marco leaned up against the wall of Ax’s scoop next to his workstation. “Anything interesting?”

‹No,› Ax said, acknowledging Marco with his main eyes and continuing to scan his terminal with his stalk eyes. ‹I am just reviewing the details of my sequestration.›

“It’s not officially a punishment though, right?” 

‹Not officially, but to lose flying privileges is a slap in the face.› Marco noted the human turn of phrase with a half hearted smirk. ‹My crew and I were one of only a few ships still on active space duty. To ground me is a pointed message.› Ax’s thought-speak took on a bitterly mocking tone, ‹’Even the hero Aximili can be mandated to his secondary occupation. See how he has gutted our forces? Surely he is satisfied now.’›

Marco frowned. He could have argued, but he’d seen the reports that dripped with thinly-veiled contempt for Ax. Ax didn’t need Marco to patronize him. “Wish there was something I could do to actually satisfy you.”

Ax gave Marco a long-suffering look. Marco grinned back. ‹Of course, your presence is satisfaction enough.›

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re being sincere.” Marco leaned his chest over Ax’s workstation. It was tall enough that he could brace himself on it and let his feet dangle. Ax needed chairs.

‹I am the most sincere person you know,› Ax said, and Marco was still unclear if he was being facetious.

Marco paused and pursed his lips. That actually wasn’t true anymore. Apparently Marco was catnip for earnest guys. “That reminds me. I need to tell you something.”

‹The most frightening phrase known to humans,› Ax joked.

“No, that’s ‘we need to talk,’” Marco corrected, grinning. He was trying to keep it light. It wasn’t a big deal for so many reasons. They had been broken up. They had an arrangement. Ax was lost in space. But it was still weird he didn’t know. “You should probably know that I was sleeping with Santorelli on the _Rachel_. We’ve already broken it off, but it was kind of awkward with the whole cake situation.”

Ax reached toward Marco, who tracked the motion of his hand with his eyes, unmoving. If it were anyone but Ax, he would have flinched away. Ax threaded a single finger into a loose forelock of Marco’s hair, sending a wave of shivers down his spine. Ax wound the hair around his finger, and Marco felt his eyelids get heavy. 

Ax gave Marco’s hair a sudden gentle tug, and goosebumps erupted all over him. He hissed in a breath and bumped his cheek into Ax’s knuckles. Ax smiled. ‹I was hoping that was the case. You had no chance with anyone else on that team.›

Marco scoffed loudly and batted Ax’s hand away. “You’re not jealous or anything? He’s hot.”

‹That’s good. In my regular body, humans are all similarly unattractive. I knew he was your type.› Ax lowered his eyelids and curved his stalk eyes in a way that made Marco warm in the pit of his stomach.

“Pff, what even is my type?” 

‹Intelligent enough to say yes,› Ax said. ‹But not so intelligent they know to say no.›

Marco barked out a sharp laugh and slid off Ax’s workstation, onto his feet. Looking Ax in the eyes, Marco caught Ax’s wrist and pulled his hand back to his face. Ax’s wry expression softened. He curled his fingers into Marco’s cheek, stroking his knuckles against Marco’s cheekbone.

“What does that say about you?” Marco asked in a low voice.

‹That I have failed the intelligence check several times,› Ax said. 

He stepped closer to Marco so that Marco’s chest brushed against his ribcage.  
Marco dragged his fingers down the fur at the small of Ax’s back. There weren’t a lot of places he was sure were sensual for Andalites; Ax usually morphed before it got that far. The fur along Ax’s spine prickled all the way down to his tail, and he pressed his thumb into Marco’s cheekbone. Marco bit back a grin. He seemed to know at least one good spot for Andalites.

Marco flushed with waves of heat, his chest and stomach tight. He wasn’t sure if he should ask Ax to morph, but everything in him wanted him to. He was aching for it. _This_ was just frustrating. He thought maybe he could feel the conflict in Ax; part of him wanted it too. He could also feel fear though -- fear of the well of sadness. 

“Morph human,” Marco said, and it wasn’t quite a question or a request.

Ax opened his eyes. His stalk eyes stilled, focused on Marco as well. ‹I’m not sure…›

Marco leaned up on his toes, pressing their bodies together, and drew his thumb across the sensitive skin under Ax’s eye. One hand stroked Ax’s cheek, the other massaged a spot between Ax’s shoulder blades. Ax had touched Marco there before. Sure enough, Ax gasped and let his hand slip off Marco’s face, falling to rest where his neck met his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine,” Marco reassured him. “We both want it, and it’ll make you feel better.”

Ax tensed, looking seriously at Marco. He took a deep breath in, then exhaled, like he was centering himself. ‹You don’t know.›

“Is a human brain really that bad? I have one and _I’m_ fine. And if you orgasm, you’ll have endorphins and oxytocin --”

‹Which I will morph away shortly after. If I’m even able to handle the morph. Who is this for, Marco?›

“Both of us,” Marco said. “We need it. You, especially, since the most action you’ve had in like a year was a creepy monster inside you.”

Ax pulled away suddenly. Marco would have stumbled, but Ax’s tail blade was there, the blunt edge steady against Marco’s sternum. Marco frowned and shoved his tail away, brushing off the front of his shirt. Ax crossed his arms defensively, looking oddly human for someone who was refusing to become one. ‹I don’t need you to tell me what I need. My bodily autonomy was stolen. I will not allow you to decide what I should be.›

“But --” Marco objected.

‹ _No_.› Ax’s hackles bristled; his tail blade twitched like he was ready for a fight. Marco knew he had a right to be angry, Marco knew he’d crossed a line, but _Ax_ told him _no_. Ax never told him no.

“Why am I even here, then?” Marco muttered sullenly, balling his hands into fists. He was still hot and wound up and he felt that pour like molten iron into his own well -- a well of bitter impatience with broken people.

‹If it is because you are under the impression you can fix me with sex, you may leave, because you are good but not supernatural,› Ax said, lifting his chin arrogantly.

Marco snorted loudly, despite himself. Ax’s gibe was like a splash of cold water in his face, and some of the frustration that had been building drained out of him. The best Andalite flirtation stung because it was true. 

Ax brushed past him, walking back toward the private area of the scoop. He moved with familiar, graceful confidence. It almost seemed like denying Marco had affirmed Ax. Marco touched a finger to his chin. It made sense that after months of being possessed and returning home to lose his career, Ax needed a locus of control. That wasn’t how their relationship had ever worked before. But had their relationship ever really worked?

As the last length of Ax’s tail passed Marco, he hooked the fleshy, prehensile muscle at the base of his blade around one of Marco’s legs, almost tripping him. ‹Follow me.›

Off balance, Marco stumbled past the opaque divider wall to find Ax facing the far side of the scoop. Marco watched that part of the wall go semi-transparent, then open up into the familiar expansive, high-tech shower room Marco had gotten addicted to in the hospital. Marco joined Ax in front of it.

“Oh my god, you’ve had me convinced for six years that Andalites live in holes in the ground,” Marco said.

Ax looked back at him, in satisfied superiority. ‹We do.› 

“Yeah, but this scoop could be on the cover of _Better Homes and Hobbit Holes_.”

‹If you are impressed by the fact that I have a shower, wait until you see my primary dwelling.› He added, ‹If you are still going to stay.›

“Do you still want me?” 

Ax studied Marco, narrowing his eyes and rotating his ears toward Marco. ‹Will you shower with me?›

“What?” Marco lifted his eyebrows and looked into the shower. It was at least big enough for two adult Andalites. “With you as an Andalite and me as a human?”

‹Yes, obviously. It is a highly intimate act in my culture. It’s part of an extended grooming ritual that one only shares with one’s family or mates,› Ax explained.

Marco knew Ax was opening up to him and was trying to smoothe over the earlier awkwardness. Marco was more in favor of getting it all out at once. “Is that still what we are?”

‹This is tiresome,› Ax said, his stalk eyes shuddering with annoyance. ‹I refused you sex _once_. I assure you, you haven’t lost your raw carnal appeal.›

“I don’t mean that,” Marco said, waving his hand in front of his face. “We’ve been broken up for a year and I’m talking about moving in with you. _On another planet_. So does that mean we’re back together?”

‹I don’t remember labels ever being so important to you,› Ax said in silky smooth thought-speak. ‹Take a shower with me or I am showering alone.› He stepped into the shower room, his hooves clacking on the semi-reflective smooth surface. 

“Am I gonna get covered in fur?” Marco asked sardonically, stripping off his shirt and jeans. He wondered what the condition of Ax’s fur even was at this point since he’d been in space for so long. Who knew what his nutrition had been like as a thrall of The One. Had he even eaten? It was spring on Andalite, and that would usually mean Ax was shedding a lot. But it was summer on Earth, and usually by then his coat was sleeker. Ax had hated what the rapid Earth seasons had done to his fur. 

‹Yes, probably,› Ax said, as a fine, herbal-scented mist wafted out toward Marco. ‹But you can simply rinse it off. And I would like to wash your hair again.› No wonder Ax had always enjoyed showering together so much, if it was an intimate bonding ritual in his culture. Marco had just thought it was typical Ax hedonism.

Marco stood, naked, in Ax’s private quarters, his arms wrapped around his upper body but not because he was cold. He looked down at the tattoo that ran along his hip bone and down his thigh and sighed. He’d wanted it to come up on his own terms, but it seemed like Ax wasn’t going to be as easily distracted as he’d hoped.

Marco stepped inside and the wall closed up behind him, shading to a mostly-opaque green. He watched Ax’s eyes travel down his body and immediately snap to the tattoo. His expression transformed -- it would almost have been funny since Ax’s fur was clumping in damp spikes increasing in length from his face down his neck and the rest of his body. His sodden ears perked up higher than when _Dawson’s Creek_ had the gay kiss. Probably not in the same positive sense.

‹You have morphed since you did that,› Ax pointed out, his main eyes scanning up and down the length of his own name on Marco’s body. His stalk eyes focused on Marco’s face. Marco used to think stalk eyes were pretty much expressionless. He still didn’t consider himself an expert, but he could tell Ax’s stalk eyes were practically vibrating with displeasure.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, crossing his arms more tightly. He wished it was either dry or that the water in the shower was more than just thick fragrant steam. He felt like he was walking past the Macy’s perfume counter. “Yeah, I let it settle. I’ve had it since, uh, basically right after you left.”

The top of Ax’s nose slits crinkled and his main eyes narrowed. It didn’t feel great to have Ax look at him the way he looked when he said “Yeerk.” ‹This is permanent.› 

“Yeah.”

‹What is _wrong_ with you? This is just like my mother. This is _worse_. You are worse than my mother.› That wasn’t Andalite flirting; it was just an insult.

Sick of being awkwardly slick with ambient moisture, Marco tried issuing a command to increase the water pressure. The wall jets engaged from all directions. Marco hadn’t _meant_ to surprise Ax with an unexpected gushing barrage, but he wasn’t upset about it either. Who wanted to be unflatteringly compared to their label-defying partner’s mother? 

Ax’s drenched hackles spiked up in shock at being suddenly hosed; he shook off like a dog, whipping his tail in annoyance. ‹I don’t understand what the point of this is. Why would you brand yourself with my name if you thought the relationship was over? This is indecent. If you were ever with another Andalite, you would expose me.›

“Yep, make the tattoo of your name _all_ about you,” Marco said wryly. “Why do you even think I would be with another Andalite?”

‹Don’t be obtuse. You could have been with whomever you wanted, regardless of species. You are a deviant.›

“That’s true. You’re right. I’m the only one here who’s an alien fucker,” Marco sneered. “You wanna get into it? Let’s get into it. How about the fact that your mom said she knew we were together because you’d had ‘no hint of a personal life’?”

Ax winced and felt a wave of miserable embarrassment strong enough to wash over Marco too. Marco smirked in satisfaction. At least now they were both soaked and humiliated. A drenched Andalite was about half as dignified as a dry one to Marco’s substantial gratification. ‹Obviously I wouldn’t share my personal life with my mother because of the risk of this very situation.›

Marco rolled his eyes. “Your mom runs a spy network; I think it’s possible she has ways of finding out if you’re dating. So why did you tell me we should see other people and then you go behind my back and _don’t_ see other people?”

‹Casual fornication is more complicated for an Andalite of my status,› Ax said airily.

“Ew, Ax, don’t say fornicate,” Marco said. “So you made me think you wanted to see other people, but you only wanted _me_ to?”

‹I assumed you would be unsatisfied while I was gone for long periods of time.› 

“I was, and sleeping with strangers and coworkers didn’t make it better.” 

‹This arrangement is the norm for Andalites. Nearly half the male population is in the military. It is expected that their mates will have secondary relationships. It didn’t bother me.› 

“Maybe it bothered me. I certainly didn’t want you to set me up to be the asshole who fooled around while you _pined_ for me. I can’t believe you were _pining_.” Marco tilted his chin down and looked into Ax’s eyes. He was pretty sure that was a challenging gesture to Andalites.

‹You are certainly one to accuse me of pining. I didn’t get ‘Marco’ carved into my tail blade.› Ax pressed the blunt side of his blade into Marco’s sternum again, as if to prove it. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and the considerable strength in his tail pushed Marco back against the wall of the shower. Marco was pretty sure the water had just gotten hotter, but it could have just been him.

Ax was nearly chest to chest with Marco, looking into his eyes, his blade still between them. ‹I believe you don’t understand why you got that tattoo, yourself,› Ax said, his thought-speak low. Marco’s breaths came shallow and quick. He reached a hand for Ax’s face, and Ax grabbed his wrist and pinned it lightly to the wall. Marco bit his lip, his heart racing. Obviously, his arms were stronger than Ax’s and he could move if he wanted. Obviously, he didn’t want to.

‹Let me explain your own actions to you, and you may tell me if I am wrong.› Ax placed his other hand at the back of Marco’s neck, his thumb running down the tender place where Marco’s jaw met his ear. Marco gulped. He could feel his pulse throb under Ax’s hand. 

‹You were understandably upset and unsatisfied with the way things ended between us. But if this had been a momentary lapse in judgment, you could have morphed it away well after your temporary insanity wore off.› Ax trailed his fingers up the side of Marco’s face, into his soggy hair, where it was still pulled up in a water-logged bun. Ax started working on pulling it out, a little roughly since it was wet. Marco groaned, and Ax pressed his tail blade harder into his sternum. The groan shrank into a whimper at the pounding ache between his ribs.

‹You obtained the tattoo for the same reason you were unhappy with our relationship not being exclusive.› Ax pulled Marco’s hair free and deftly ran his fingers through the wet and tangled length. He snaked his hand into the base of Marco’s scalp, drawing their faces closer together. Ax brushed the damp fur of his cheek against Marco’s. Marco inhaled a shuddering gasp. ‹You wanted to look at your body and remember that you were mine.›

“ _Please_ morph human,” Marco begged.

‹No,› Ax said and slipped his hand between Marco’s legs.

Marco hissed as Ax stroked the top of his erection along the length of two fingers. He buried his face into Ax’s sodden neck fur and thrust into his hand. Ax slid his hand -- so many fingers -- down deeper and back out in time with Marco’s grinding. The texture of Ax’s velvety fingers added slight friction to his rubbing. Not in a bad way. Especially not since it seemed like each nimble finger was somehow touching every part of him at once. Especially not since Marco was more slick with arousal than it seemed like he’d been since he started T three years ago.

Marco threw his head back. He was still pinned, breastbone grinding hard against Ax’s tail blade. He groaned at the sharp lance of pain that punctured the hot wave of pleasure rising up from below. Panting, chest heaving against Ax’s tail, Marco opened his eyes. All four of Ax’s eyes were trained on Marco’s face, studying him intently to respond to his changes in expression. It was hot, hotter because it was Ax, _really_ Ax in his weird, beautiful, dangerous, strangely sexy real body and they’d never done this before and whose stupid idea was _that_? 

Marco licked his lips, tasting the herbal, salty water from the shower. Ax tilted his head down and locked eyes with Marco. Several of his fingers teased at Marco’s opening, and Marco felt his pelvic muscles tighten in response, driving an ache up through him.

“ _Please_ ,” he gasped.

Ax thrust three fingers into him, and Marco growled a litany of obscenities and pushed back, tightening himself around Ax’s fingers. Marco continued to rock his hips into Ax’s hand, his breaths coming in ragged moans. Ax released his wrist so he could stroke Marco’s cock with his other hand, and Marco arched his hips up eagerly. Marco’s dick was sensitive in normal situations but _this_ \-- there was no way he was going to last.

Both his hands free, Marco looked hazily down at Ax’s tail, still driving the blunt side of his blade into Marco’s chest. Marco bit his lip, remembering that Ax had said those muscles were incredibly sensitive, borderline sensual, and highly offensive to touch. Marco glanced up at Ax, who was still watching him closely, and brought both hands to caress up the sinewy length of Ax’s tail. Marco saw a flash in Ax’s eyes and then he didn’t see anything. He felt a release of the pressure against his chest, and his whole body yanked upward with a gasp. 

Ax had encircled his wrists in the flexible tip of his tail and pinned his arms above his head. Ax had somehow managed this without interruption to the task at hand. Marco grinned wildly at him. Ax smiled back. 

He added a fourth finger, hooking up and rubbing against Marco’s G-spot in time with his hand on Marco’s cock. Marco shut his eyes and lolled his head back, lights bursting on black. A deep groan escaped his chest as he shook into Ax’s hands, and he felt his muscles contract and release around Ax’s fingers. Ax slowed to a stop when Marco started his oversensitive keening.

‹Are you ready to be done?› 

His eyes still shut tightly, Marco nodded. Ax released Marco’s wrists from the grip of his tail. Marco had to brace himself against the slick wall; his legs felt like noodles. He hadn’t realized Ax had been partially supporting his weight. 

While Marco waited for the buzzy, twitching waves to stop running through him, he watched Ax step back into the water jets and put his hands up to rinse them off. Ax adjusted the water pressure again into a wider stream and turned his body so he was fully drenched. Marco was reminded that his first impression of the Andalite shower had been “car wash.”

His faculties returned, Marco pushed off the side of the shower and leaned up against Ax’s shoulder. Ax looked down at him with mild disdain. ‹I still hate your tattoo.›

“Funny, I actually like it more.” Marco threaded his fingers into the long fur on Ax’s withers, pulled his hand back, and noted it was coated in shed fur. He looked down at his body to see short blue hair trailed down to his crotch and mingled with his pubes. He shook his head and stepped into the water to rinse. 

“You know,” he said, “I thought that was really hot.”

‹I could tell.› Ax had produced some kind of comb-like tool and was running it through the fur on the far side from Marco. He regarded Marco with his stalk eyes.

“Is there a reason we haven’t done that before? Because you’ve known I’m into you like this since day one. It’s not _my_ rule.” Marco touched Ax’s wrist and put his hand over the comb. “Will you show me? If it’s part of the ritual, or whatever?”

Ax lowered his ears a bit. Marco wasn’t sure what it meant. He handed Marco the comb and guided his hand to show him how. Marco drew the comb along Ax’s flank and felt Ax’s muscles relax under his touch. 

‹You know that relationships, especially sexual relationships, with aliens are taboo among Andalites,› Ax said. 

“Yeah, but that hasn’t stopped you.” The comb caught at the base of Ax’s tail, and Marco started working on a knot. Feeling Ax’s fur in this way made it clear that whatever scented the water was probably some kind of fur conditioner -- it made Ax a little slippery and reduced the resistance to the comb.

‹It is why we have never done this before,› Ax clarified.

“Ah.” Marco held the comb up to the water to rinse the clumped hair out and went back to grooming. “The old ‘it doesn’t count in human morph,’ huh? That kind of only works with calories, you know.”

‹Yes, especially because it is also taboo to have sex in morph at all,› Ax said. ‹I have been making a false distinction to deal with cognitive dissonance caused by residual conditioned shame. I am almost over it. Other Andalites would see no difference anyway. One virus pollutes the whole stream.›

“Wow, what a positive saying that makes me think you feel great about our relationship.”

‹Perhaps ‘it is better to meet cold water with all four hooves’ is better?› Marco shrugged and moved to Ax’s other side to continue grooming him. ‹I do have some concerns. You were annoyed about maintaining the secrecy of our relationship on Earth. It will be even more important here.›

“I know,” Marco said, looking down at the comb and pulling hair out with his hand so he didn’t have to look at Ax. “That’s why I didn’t want to come here.”

‹ _Do_ you know? Because in truth, if other Andalites find out about us, it would be like if the human media found out Jake was engaged in a sexual relationship with his dog. And considered it a mutual, loving relationship.›

Marco stopped brushing Ax and looked up at him, disturbed. “So they really do think I’m like your pet? Ugh, Ax.”

Ax gave Marco a pained smile. ‹I am already called an alien lover by my opponents. It would almost be funny if I didn’t want to salvage my career.› Ax turned to Marco and took the comb from him and set it on the ground. ‹You are terrible at this. We’ll continue to work on it.›

“Yeah, well _I_ never had a dog. I guess I don’t know how to brush wet fur, even in a mutual, loving relationship.” Marco’s heart started racing. That dumb joke was the closest he’d ever come to saying the “L” word to Ax. What a shitty context.

Ax didn’t seem to acknowledge it. He stepped behind Marco and pulled some stray hairs over his shoulder. He gathered Marco’s hair into his hands and increased the heat and water pressure of the shower. First Ax soaked the ends of Marco’s hair, and then he massaged his fingers into Marco’s scalp. Marco leaned back into it, closing his eyes, and let out a quiet groan. 

‹I do have another concern,› Ax said.

“Mm?”

‹You need to listen to me and attempt to be more patient. I understand my suffering is difficult for you as well. But I am not Jake. And I am not you. I will cope with it in my own way. Just give me time.›

Marco turned, reached up, and lightly brushed his fingertips down Ax’s cheek. “I’ll work on it. I’ll probably mess up.” Marco smirked. “Just hit me in the face with a rolled up newspaper like the dumb pet I am.”

Ax wrinkled his nose slits and whacked Marco lightly across the forehead with the back of his fingers. ‹I could make you regret giving me permission to do that.›

Marco leaned up against him, pressing his chest into Ax’s waterlogged torso. “If you think that’s a threat, you don’t know me at all.”

‹Then you still want to stay?›

“I'm going to stay.”


	15. ACT 2

MARCO

Too bright. What genius Andalite decided their architecture should all look like the Astrodome had a baby with an Apple Store? Marco put his arm over his eyes and rolled over. Unexpectedly, he brushed up against warm fur. Ax was still there. That was nice -- Marco had been getting used to waking up alone from his periodic naps. Marco put his arm down and buried his face and hands into Ax’s fur.

‹It’s good you’re awake. We’re expecting a delivery.›

Marco pushed himself up on his elbows and squinted up at Ax. He was on a datapad, flicking at the holo display, a single stalk eye pointed back at Marco. Marco couldn’t see his expression, but his shoulders were hunched and his tail was completely limp against the ground. He’d been sending condolence rituals to the families of his crew during Marco’s sleeping sessions. Marco assumed he was still working on that. 

“What does that mean, expecting a delivery?”

‹Prince Caysath is shipping out in the morning. Jake and the others are preparing to leave. I am trying to make final arrangements for Menderash. It will be a busy day. Your friend Santorelli is bringing your luggage here.›

“ _All_ of it?” Marco rose to his feet, using Ax’s back as leverage. The tip of Ax’s tail twitched out of either reflex or mild annoyance. 

Ax tilted his head skeptically at Marco while he dressed. ‹How much did you bring?›

Marco scoffed. “Remember that time you took me to Berlin?”

‹You didn’t bring that much, did you? My crew had to load your belongings with a mag-lev carrier.›

“Ax,” Marco said, looking him squarely in the eyes. “Do you think I brought _less_ on a trip to space than I did on a trip to Germany?”

Ax sighed heavily. Marco laughed. He went out into the main living space, grabbed a bagel, and dragged himself up to sit on the workstation table. 

‹You don’t seem bothered that the others are departing.› Ax switched to his main terminal to continue working next to Marco.

Marco shrugged. “Am I supposed to be surprised? I know what I’m getting into.”

‹Do you?› Ax looked at him seriously. ‹It is impossible to prepare to be the only one of your species on an alien planet.›

“You’d know.” Marco leaned forward. “Why do I keep feeling like you’re trying to talk me out of this?”

‹You can’t close a flower once it has bloomed,› Ax said.

Marco lifted a brow. “You’re doing that more, quoting Andalite sayings.”

‹You should get used to it.› Ax snorted and looked back down at his console. ‹I imagine you’ll be spending more time with my mother, for one.›

Ax went back to work. Marco noted the subtle changes in his expression, the rotation of his ears, the slow sweep of his tail near the ground. After a few minutes, he seemed lost in what he was doing, his stalk eyes still and his breathing slow. Marco brushed his hands off on his jeans and pulled a knee up to rest his chin on, continuing to watch Ax.

Ax glanced up. ‹You’re staring at me.›

Marco didn’t have time to voice a clever response because he was interrupted by Tobias’ thought-speak. ‹Hey Ax-man, Santorelli’s outside your place, and he’s probably going to have a stroke if you don’t let him in.›

‹Thank you, Tobias,› Ax said. He shut down what he was working on and turned to the inclined hall that led to his scoop entrance. ‹Please come in.›

Santorelli walked in sideways, too wide to fit otherwise. As soon as he crossed the threshold of Ax’s living space, he dropped the two suitcases he was carrying in each hand. He ducked out from under the crossbody strap that secured Marco’s Prada duffel bag to his back. Marco blinked. Santorelli’d actually carried all five bags all the way from town. Had he been in the army or had he actually worked as a hotel porter?

Santorelli was panting and practically dripping with sweat, but he grinned at Ax and said, “Hi again.” 

‹Hello again,› Ax said. He cast a long-suffering glare at Marco before looking back to Santorelli. ‹I’m sorry you carried all of this so far. Had I known he packed so much, I would have commissioned a truck. Or made him carry it himself.›

“You have a lot of luck with that, getting him to take responsibility for his own shit?” Santorelli grinned at Marco over Ax’s shoulder.

“Ouch.” Marco unenthusiastically placed a hand over his heart, as if stabbed by a lazy assassin. He hopped down from his seat on the desk and heaved the duffle over his shoulder. Mostly to prove a point.

‹No, not at all,› Ax responded flatly.

“ _Double_ ouch.” Marco dragged one of his suitcases and the duffel bag back to the bedroom. He came back out and looked between them. “You know, this is probably a bad idea, the two of you in the same place. Wouldn’t want me to be swallowed up by the black hole that would form if you touched.” 

‹Oh?› Ax smiled at Santorelli. He placed a delicate hand on Santorelli’s shoulder. Clearly just to make Marco uncomfortable. ‹But we have so much in common. You should allow us to exchange tips.›

“And horror stories.” Santorelli hadn’t stopped grinning since he arrived.

“I hate you both, you’re both really weird, and I wash my hands of you.” Marco grabbed another two suitcases and inched them back into the other room.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with us?” Santorelli asked Ax as Marco came back for his last bag and gave him a dirty look.

‹Probably,› Ax said. ‹But I would like to believe we are merely victims of unfortunate circumstances.›

“You’re both _so funny_. I can’t breathe, I’m laughing so hard,” Marco deadpanned.

‹Ax-man,› Tobias called from somewhere above the scoop. Marco squinted up through the transparent ceiling but couldn’t see him. ‹Would you like to run with me?› 

‹Yes,› Ax responded, his tail arching up eagerly. To Santorelli, he said, ‹Please excuse me. It was very nice seeing you again. You have my thanks, for everything.›

“No problem. I wish we had time to get to know each other.”

Ax tilted his head. Marco sensed that he was taken aback by Santorelli’s sincerity. ‹Likewise.›

The sound of Ax’s hooves grew distant. Marco looked up at Santorelli, whose shirt was still damply sticking to his abs. “You ready to go home?”

Santorelli looked up at the gold morning sky. “Is it weird that I’m not? Like, I joined the morphing unit instead of going to pastry school because I’d already seen the worst of what aliens can do. I thought I might as well get something out of the combat training and xenobiology ‘ _experience_.’ Now I just spent almost a month teaching sweet, funny aliens how to make éclairs. How am I gonna top that? Have you ever seen an Andalite suck the cream out of an éclair?”

“Come on, Sarge. I’ve witnessed countless messy éclair blowjobs.” Santorelli groaned. Marco shrugged. “You know, there are bakeries for Andalites on Earth. You’re probably uniquely qualified, with your sterling references and all. I don’t see why you couldn’t work some connections. Maybe no pastry school required?”

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe that’s a good idea. I’m not used to having connections.” Santorelli looked around, his eyes settling on the small fountain in the corner. “You’re really staying? What’re you gonna do here?”

“Dunno.” Marco crossed his arms. “Ax, I guess.”

Santorelli rolled his eyes. “Okay, but Ax has a job, and I know from experience that no one can stand you when you’re bored, not even you. Ax seems nice and all, but I know he’s not a saint.”

“I don’t _know_ , Sarge,” Marco said, an edge rising in his voice. “I just know I’m staying.”

Santorelli put his hands up in surrender. “You just had so much going on on Earth. It’s hard to picture you without a plan.”

Marco frowned acidly. “Whatever, I was bored there too.”

“It didn't seem boring.”

“I'm an _actor_. Have you heard of it? Because they haven't here. I'm by definition unemployed since my job doesn't even exist.” Marco raked his hand through his hair. “Anyway, I’m probably going to be preoccupied overthinking every move I make because if it gets out that Ax is with an alien, he’ll lose everything.”

“Ohhh.” A crooked smile of understanding crept across Santorelli’s face.

“What’s that look?” Marco narrowed his eyes. He didn’t love being on the other side of having his motivations analyzed, especially when the person was good at reading him. A real relationship would never have worked out between them. 

“Nothing,” Santorelli answered too quickly, looking down at Marco like he’d just completed a crossword puzzle by himself for the very first time. “Just that you grew up living a double life, having to hide the most important part of yourself, and maybe that’s what feels right to you. It’s certainly not boring.”

“Okay, Dr. Phil, our session is over, send me your bill never.” Marco shoved Santorelli toward the exit. It was like pushing on a wall made of muscle. He was a cooperative wall, though, and respected Marco’s manly dignity enough to allow himself to be pushed outside.

“Is this how you’re saying goodbye to me or are you and Ax gonna come wave at us from the harbor?” Santorelli stopped walking and Marco bumped into his side.

Marco flushed. He brushed his clammy hands off on his jeans. “I assume we’re gonna see you off. But I can push you onto the ship if you need it.”

“I might. After all, I like it here.” Santorelli tilted his head, trying to make eye contact with Marco, but Marco looked down at the ground from the corner of his eye. Taking advantage of Marco looking in the opposite direction, Santorelli bent down and gave Marco a soft kiss on the cheek. Goosebumps rippled down Marco’s arms as Santorelli’s warm breath tickled his ear.

Marco inhaled sharply through his nose. “Sarge.”

He backed off, putting some space between them. “I know, I know. But I didn’t want to have this moment, let it pass, then torture myself forever. Sorry.” He bit his lip and smiled around it. “At least I didn’t do it in front of everyone right before we shipped off.”

“And you better not.”

Santorelli’s mischievous grin pushed out into a silvery beak. Typical of Santorelli’s morphing style, he morphed his head first, then his wings -- bright white feathers flecked with grey. He let the falcon overtake the rest of his body and was in the sky in less than two minutes. What a showoff.

‹An _estreen_ ,› Ax observed. Marco turned, startled. Ax stepped out from behind the gentle slope of his scoop. ‹He has many skills, doesn’t he?›

A cold trickle of anxiety dripped down Marco’s spine. “You saw that?” 

‹Yes.› Ax tilted his head, his expression even more smug than usual. ‹It’s not as if you were especially private about it, standing in front of my scoop.›

Ax took Marco’s hand and led him back inside. “Are you mad?”

‹No,› Ax said simply. He engaged his terminal, opened the messaging interface, and checked a comm he’d received while they were outside.

Marco crossed his arms and leaned against Ax’s desk. “You know, he’s in love with me.”

Ax met Marco’s eyes. He blinked once, slowly, like a person trying to be patient with a child. ‹And are you in love with him?›

“No.”

Ax looked back to his terminal. ‹Then I am not threatened.› 

Marco swallowed, warmth spreading up from his stomach. He had questions he was afraid to ask about how Ax was coping, but it was easy to push that aside in the moments Ax exuded confidence. Marco licked his lips and moved forward. He pressed their bodies together, his chin on Ax’s chest, and looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes. 

Ax snorted disdainfully, but his stalk eyes were relaxed. ‹I have to speak to Prince Caysath in person to finalize arrangements for Menderash. Will you be able to amuse yourself if I leave you here?›

Marco buried his face into Ax’s chest and sighed dramatically into his fur. “Yeah, fine. Bring me back something nice.”

Ax stepped back. He brushed several fingers across Marco’s cheek. ‹I will bring myself back to you.›

“Nicer than I deserve,” Marco said. Ax just smiled and departed.

Marco went back to the bedroom. He surveyed the mess he’d made of Ax’s place. The bed was in disarray on one side of the room. On the other, he’d stacked his pile of luggage haphazardly. He almost wished he’d brought some stupid stuff like action figures or stolen props from his sets so he could properly colonize like he’d done to Ax’s Earth scoop. Andalites were creepily Spartan. In a lot of ways. It was important to claim part of their space for humanity. Maybe he could get his mom to send him some of his stuff.

His mom was going to kill him from eighty-two light years away when she found out he wasn’t coming back.

‹Hey, Marco?› Tobias was still around. ‹Ax wanted us to acquire a _kafit_ so he could show us some grass or something before we leave. Want to do it together?›

Marco pursed his lips. He and Tobias didn’t exactly put in a lot of one-on-one hangout time, especially not lately. They never had, but the rift between them had deepened after Ax was captured. But that was over and Marco knew he had a tendency to underestimate how much he missed the bird-boy when he was gone. Tobias might even pull his shitty disappearing act once he got back to Earth. For all Marco knew, he might never see him again. And at least flying with Tobias wasn’t sitting around playing holographic solitaire waiting for Ax to come home like some sad housewife who was bad at cleaning.

Marco went outside, morphed osprey, and joined Tobias. The sky was still gold with only the faintest hints of red at the edge of the horizon. Still early. Tobias led them over a dense forest. Not the same forest with the base where they’d rescued Menderash. The midnight blue trees in this forest were shorter and closer together. The trunks, if you could call them that, looked fleshy -- maybe even fuzzy? Definitely fuzzy. Each tree was curved kind of like the sway of a person’s back. No two looked the same. They had short branches, and instead of leaves the -- fur? -- on the branches was longer than the fur on the trunks. They were kind of gross and unsettling. Marco realized suddenly that he didn’t hear any animals. That he hadn’t the entire time he’d been on Andalite. His osprey eyes didn’t catch the movement of anything that could be prey, let alone another big bird like a _kafit_.

Marco was about to ask Tobias when something rammed into him. He was perfectly willing to assume it was his own fault, that he’d gotten distracted like an idiot and run into a creepy tree or something. But as he fell from the sky, the disorientation faded. He was able to focus on the fact that Tobias had dive bombed him. That Tobias was surfing his body down to the ground, one talon grasping his right wing, the other buried into the feathers on his chest. 

‹What are you doing?!› Marco flapped his one free wing and flared his tail. He wasn’t sure if he should try to flip himself over or beat at Tobias with his wing. His osprey was bigger. Size didn’t matter because Tobias was in complete control of their descent. Marco thrashed and twisted, but Tobias corrected for every motion. 

He slammed Marco hard into the ground, free wing first. SNAP! Now there was no free wing. Marco struggled, pain shooting through him like lightning, but Tobias pinned Marco’s remaining wing. His other talon spread over Marco’s face and held his head to the ground. Marco’s osprey morph was panicking, kicking involuntarily. His heart was racing faster than he’d ever felt any heartbeat. Tobias’ broad wings blocked out the sun. The osprey thought it was going to die.

‹If you demorph, I'll claw your eyes out. Listen to me.› Tobias’s thought-speech was smooth and cold, like steel. Not like himself. He probably didn’t even realize how much like Rachel he sounded.

‹What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing?›

‹If I _ever_ hear that you’ve tried to force yourself on Ax again, I will _literally_ come into your room at night and slit your throat. Do you think I care? Do you think there would be consequences? I can disappear here just as easily as I did on Earth.›

Marco loosed a crazed laugh. ‹Oh my god. Forced myself? Seriously? On Ax? He was an _Andalite_ , dude. He could have sliced and diced me if I went too far.›

Tobias pressed Marco’s head harder into the ground. ‹Sometimes I can't believe how stupid you are. Although I’m pretty sure you do it on purpose. In a calculated way.› 

‹Yeah, sure. And then he came onto me later because he was so totally traumatized, right?›

‹I don’t care if he pity fucked you later.› Tobias twisted Marco’s neck so they were eye to eye, amber meeting merciless copper. One predator in the grasp of another predator. Except only one of them was a real predator. ‹Do you really think that a strong person can't be vulnerable? Especially after what happened to him? Do you also think that a girl can’t take advantage of a guy because _guys are stronger_?› Tobias pressed down further on Marco’s head. Marco felt his fragile osprey bones strain. ‹How about _you_ , Marco? _Do you feel vulnerable_?›

‹No,› Marco blurted. ‹I just feel like you're crazy.› 

Marco heard another sick, deep snap, and his body went limp. He couldn't feel the pressure of Tobias against his chest anymore. ‹You’re at least right about one thing.› The edges of Marco’s vision were going black. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. Needed to demorph. ‹Don’t forget that you’re here to help Ax. You’re not taking an alien vacation from your _oh so important_ life. I’m staying too. And I’m going to be watching you.› Tobias fluttered back. Off of Marco. ‹You should demorph.› 

Tobias flew away. ‹By the way, I already acquired a kafit. Do something yourself, for once.›

Marco demorphed slowly. He lay on the ground of the forest, his cheek against the cool, grassy ground. He was breathing heavily, shuddering, his heart still racing. His eyes started burning, and he curled up. A wave of nausea hit him, and he rolled over onto his knees and forearms, pressing his forehead into his arms. His breaths caught roughly in his throat, halfway between hyperventilating and dry sobs. He didn’t want to ride this out. He didn’t have to.

Unlike Jake, Marco had always been smart enough to know when to get away from himself. Since the war ended and the wonderful world of having money and connections had opened up to him, Marco had tried pretty much every form of escapism. But nothing was ever quite so effective as just _not being Marco_. 

Marco concentrated and started to morph again. As soon as the dog brain welled up behind his, he let it overtake him, buried himself underneath it. He ran around the forest, his dog mind going crazy. All the unfamiliar smells! Weird furry trees! He needed to mark his territory! He didn’t smell other dogs but there could be other dogs! They needed to know this was _his_ weird, fuzzy forest!

Marco let himself run around joyfully peeing on things for a while. He tracked some scents that were probably animals, but they smelled so strange. It was pretty goal-oriented behavior for a dog brain on its own, though. Irish setters must have strong hunting instincts. Marco had no way to know which smells he was tracking were _kafits_ , if any. 

After a while, Marco cautiously reasserted control over the morph. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the morph. He had to give up on acquiring a _kafit_. Marco found his way back to Ax’s scoop, mostly through scent and luck. Ax still wasn’t back, which was good, because Marco was still upset. 

Marco had been a small kid and an only child. When he’d been bullied, his instinct had always been to tattle. He liked adults better than other kids anyway; when adults felt sorry for you, they treated you better. He didn’t mind to backstab the other kids to get there. He got the feeling that Tobias was the polar opposite -- the kid that suffered silently and trusted no one. 

He wasn’t going to tattle on Tobias to Ax. That would be losing.

Marco dug at his bed, circled twice, and lay down. Good dog. He demorphed in bed and wrapped himself tightly in his blanket like he’d done when he was a kid. 

When Marco woke up, he had a headache -- of course he did. The sky was red. Marco blinked hard against the throb behind his eye and unrolled himself from his blanket. He stumbled blearily into the main part of the scoop where Ax was at his terminal. 

“How long have I been asleep?” Marco grumbled, combing his hair down with his fingers.

Ax didn’t look up. ‹I don’t know. At least six Earth hours, because that is how long I’ve been back. I brought you a sandwich and a salad from Kethra’s. The sandwich was warm at one point. It is likely they are now equal in temperature.›

“Hey.” Marco waited for Ax to make eye contact with his main eyes. “Are you okay?”

Ax softened when he saw that Marco was having a rare moment of genuine concern. ‹I’m not, but I’m managing.› 

“Are _we_? You don’t have to let me stay just because I want to, you know. Tell me to go if that’s what you actually want.”

‹I want you here,› Ax insisted. Again, Marco was full of questions and Ax sounded like he didn’t have any at all. ‹It’s what I’ve wanted for years. It will be complicated, but I trust you will be able to handle it.›

Marco wondered what Ax had actually told Tobias. Ax didn’t sound like what happened the night before had changed anything. But maybe Ax was too alien and Marco was too damaged to know where that line even was. Maybe that line was sharper for Tobias. Marco rubbed his fingertips into his eye. He didn’t even want to think about why. Tobias’ issues were way above him. Tobias’ issues rode thermals.

‹Speaking of your ability to handle things,› Ax continued. Marco raised an eyebrow. ‹I need someone to assist Menderash in boarding a cargo ship that Prince Caysath will be escorting to Earth.›

“Me? You want _me_ to smuggle Menderash?”

‹He trusts you.›

Marco exploded with genuine laughter and didn’t stop until his knees were weak and his eyes were wet. “You can’t be serious.”

‹It can’t be me and he can’t do it alone. He does consider you a friend. He is just… reserved.›

“Andalites are so good at euphemisms. Why say ‘asshole’ when you can say ‘unsociable’? Oh Menderash, he’s just shy. You have to get to know him. Then you find out he’s actually Satan’s own personal assistant.” Ax gave Marco a look that clearly said _are you done_? “Doesn’t your mom have someone who can do it? A _real_ spy?”

‹What do you think you did during the war, Marco? Either way, my mother says she also can’t involve herself. She has some amount of legitimacy. I suppose.› Ax sighed. ‹In truth, I believe she is punishing him. They were close, and she is reacting as if his becoming a _nothlit_ was a personal slight to her. My mother can be petty.›

“But he saved you? Her only son? Prince and hero of the people?” Marco flourished his hand toward Ax for emphasis and Ax batted it away with the flat of his tail blade.

‹My mother has no fewer than four agents she would trade me for, I assure you.›

Marco scowled. “I’m starting to think I’m not your mother’s biggest fan.”

‹No. You would have to fight Mertil for that position, and he has published a dissertation on her work.› 

Marco rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ he has.” Marco watched Ax’s tail blade flick back and forth, low to the ground. Impatient. Uncomfortable. Strained. “Fine, fine. I guess I can do it.”

‹I know you can. You just have to make everything difficult.› Ax returned Marco’s smirk with a fatigued smile. ‹We are fortunate that tonight will have a period we call _dalasshin_ , during which there will be no moons in the sky and you will be able to take advantage of the cover of darkness.›

“You have a plan for me, then?”

‹Yes, but we have some time to kill before it will be dark.›

“How long?”

‹About twenty-two Earth hours.›

“ _Ugh_ ,” Marco groaned.

Ax smiled. He almost seemed to enjoy how thrown off Marco was by his planet. Was Marco sensing some schadenfreude through their empathic bond? A feeling of _turnabout is fair play_? ‹Don’t worry. I have all the television we missed on DVR.›

~

The final moon crept down near the horizon. It was darker than Marco had ever seen Andalite. The deep crimson sky was nearly black. Long shadows reached like groping hands across the clearing. The seemingly unending expanse of dense blue foliage touched something in Marco that reminded him of the deep ocean. Marco shivered. No wonder the Andalites’ favorite time of day was morning.

Ax had reminded Marco where the safe house was. All Marco had to do was fly there. When he pictured his osprey, an icy fist of fear closed at the base of his spine. Marco reeled, like someone was turning the world on its side. Falling. Deadly talons. A cracking lance of pain deep inside. Merciless amber eyes. His breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed tightly against the cold and the bile and the twisting in him. He’d broken out in a cold sweat. He had to force himself to breathe again. Not osprey. It didn’t make sense anyway. Owl. Obviously owl.

The alien darkness that felt like it was pulling him under remitted when Marco’s eyes became owl eyes. Owls weren’t afraid of the dark. He took off silently, bolstered by the natural lightness of the thinner atmosphere. Flying as an owl had always had the same kind of cool, quiet satisfaction as driving an electric car. Andalites had improved significantly on those too.

‹Ash, I’m here for you,› Marco warned when he arrived. He landed, demorphed, and entered the holographically disguised bunker.

Marco glanced around, squinting because the only light was a glowing panel along the opposite edge of the space. “MenderAH --” 

He was cut off suddenly by a long arm snaking around his neck and a sharp wrist bone poking into his jugular. Menderash yanked him backwards and hissed in his ear, “Do you think it’s over? That we’re done because we saved Aximili?”

Marco pried his fingers between Menderash’s arm and his neck. He dug his fingernails in. Menderash didn’t react, but he still only had use of one arm, so it was really only half a choke hold. Menderash was making a point. “Okay, Ash,” Marco growled through gritted teeth, “you know I appreciate your style more than most, but it's time for you to switch to ‘exhibitions of mild fraternity’ because I’ve had a full range of neck experiences today, and I'm about to go all former child soldier and elbow you in your broken ribs if you don’t let me go.”

Menderash released Marco, who slipped out from under his arm and rounded on him. For good measure, Marco jabbed him quickly in the ribs anyway. The resulting flinch was satisfying. 

Marco rubbed at his neck and glared. “The fuck, Ash?”

“Do you think I don’t know you stopped working on the security reports? I should have known that if we recovered Aximili, you would lose your motivation. Humans are simple and easily placated.”

“Oh,” Marco said. He counted points off on his fingers. “One, how do you know that? Two, fine, but I did just get back together with Ax after he was possessed by a monster. If you’d ever felt affection, you could cut me some slack. Three, pretty sure your little underground resistance is a minority and most Andalites are easily placated themselves.”

“I stole a holopad from the medic Forlay sent a few days ago. I was able to check the tracker logs on the datapad I gave you and the access stats on the security keys I provided you _which you haven’t used_ before Forlay banned me from her streams and sent an agent to confiscate the pad.”

“So you got grounded from the internet for creeping on me? I guess sometimes people do get what they deserve.”

“I think you should hope not,” Menderash retorted. He continued, “Nothing has changed. I believe more firmly than ever that Aximili was sabotaged. Their handling of the _Intrepid_ assault is telling. High command is baiting us from the front so our stalk eyes don’t notice the danger behind.”

Marco stared at Menderash, deciding it wasn’t productive to point out that neither of them had stalk eyes. “I do have what I think are legitimate concerns that accessing my datapad from Ax’s scoop would be a security risk. I haven’t turned it on.”

“You can review and annotate the reports I stored on it locally. As far as accessing the civilian net or secure channels…” Menderash averted his eyes. “You may be correct,” Menderash’s speech was unaffected but the admission was clearly begrudging. “Aximili’s father, Noorlin, will be able to help you with access masking and encryption. But until then, there is still much for you to do.”

“Okay,” Marco said. “But I’m already going to be Ax’s live-in human lover. Won’t it be worse if I’m also infiltrating the military to expose a conspiracy that may or may not exist?”

“You’re going to be Aximili’s live-in human lover,” Menderash repeated back with minimal disgust but dripping disdain. “Unless you implicate him in your machinations, it will not matter if you are also a spy. If you are found out, he will be ruined, and you will be… well, if you were any other alien, you would be killed. You’re lucky you have political clout.”

“So no use putting in just the tip, is what you’re saying,” Marco muttered.

“Is that what I’m saying? What does that mean?” 

“Nothing,” Marco said. “Are you ready to go? It’s like. Dark out. _Dalasshin_ or whatever.”

“Ah. Traditionally, Andalites stay inside while it is totally dark. It was a time of great danger when we were prey. Now it is a time for quietude and reflection. It’s an optimal opportunity for someone in a useless body to attempt a covert operation.”

“Glad you approve. Ready?”

“I am.”

Marco morphed gorilla and cradled Menderash in his arms. He tried to be gentle, but Menderash winced when Marco hoisted him. It was clear Menderash was trying to hide his discomfort and limited range of motion. It would be easier if he communicated, but Menderash never made anything easy.

When they got outside, Marco was immediately disoriented. At this point it was pitch black. A gorilla’s night vision was no better than a human’s. Gorillas had pretty poor hearing which underscored how unsettling the soundscape of Andalite was. They were surrounded by nature, but the usual sounds of insects, birds, and the buzz of life in general were just a vacuum. Like the sound mixer that programmed the universe forgot to turn that track on. Even the trees didn’t have leaves that rustled, although the corkscrew branches in this forest did rattle against each other like bones when the wind blew. That wasn’t comforting. 

Marco wasn’t sure how he was going to navigate with gorilla senses. Menderash sensed his hesitance in moving forward. ‹Do you need a navigator?›

Marco was able to make his way painstakingly out of the forest with the aid of Menderash’s mental picture of the area. He did eventually have to shift Menderash into a careful fireman’s carry to use an arm to help feel out obstacles. Marco didn’t expect to feel so guilty and concerned when Menderash made the occasional stifled sound of pain. He was annoyed that he actually did care.

Once they were out of the forest, navigating was much easier. Menderash directed him the long way around Theyfla -- ‹The scenic route?› Marco joked.

They approached the base from the far side, the gentle roar of the ocean on their left, the distant glow of Theyfla’s bioluminescent trees on the right. The city and the base both seemed completely shut down. 

‹I can manage on my own from here,› Menderash said. ‹You will only be a liability if you follow me.›

Marco scoffed mentally and set Menderash down. Marco made sure Menderash was steady with a huge, meaty hand on his shoulder. Menderash swatted at it as soon as he had his footing. ‹Thanks for helping me, Marco,› Marco mocked in an acerbic monotone. ‹You’ve risked a lot for me and all I’ve done is choke you.›

‹If you are trying to get me to admit that I will regret no longer being able to relish in your presence, you will be disappointed.›

‹You owe me twice now,› Marco pointed out. ‹I bet you hate that.›

Menderash sighed. ‹I will be in touch,› he said. It sounded vaguely like a threat.


	16. Chapter 16

AXIMILI

‹I am forwarding you my ship manifest, my planned trajectory, and my itinerary. After I return Prince Jake and his crew to California, I will be continuing on to New York to attend the UN Security Council meeting. Do you have any insights into the situation in Bosnia and Herzegovina? Would you like documentation of the meeting? Transcripts? Prince Aximili?›

‹No, I don’t think so. No, thank you, Prince Caysath.› 

Aximili was making his best effort to give the prince his full attention. He made the appropriate amount of eye contact as a sign of respect to an equal or superior. He hoped it wasn’t obvious that his stalk eyes were preoccupied looking over Caysath’s shoulder and that he was more focused on the humans’ farewell rituals than on his fellow officer. Jake and Marco were standing close together, apparently engaged in serious discussion. Sergeant Santorelli and Jeanne Gerard were laughing together nearby. Tobias was perched on Jeanne Gerard’s shoulder. Aximili was, as always, performing his duty.

It was yet another microcosm of the friction Aximili had dealt with since he had been made prince. His obligations to his people were yet again causing him to miss out on the experiences he wanted to have.

Aximili struggled to keep his hooves planted and his tail at the appropriate level. In truth, he had no idea about the current situation in Bosnia and Herzegovina. If he was completely honest, he wouldn’t say he’d even entirely wrapped his tail around it when he held Caysath’s position. Earth politics had never been one of his primary interests, and the humans rarely wanted the Andalite perspective on the atrocities they committed against each other anyway. But he’d done what the humans wanted -- he’d stayed quiet at their diplomatic negotiations and focused on ways he could improve relations between their two species. Aximili had been a very good liaison to Earth.

Prince Caysath-Winwall-Esgarrouth wasn’t a poor replacement. Like many officers, he had known Elfangor and spoke reverently of him. He respected Aximili’s family in general which, these days, was a good metric for whether a colleague could be trusted. His mother had radicalized to a point that accusations of seditious conspiracy against her were hardly an exaggeration anymore. Any military official who could accept her actions as a legitimate difference of opinion and not high treason was progressive indeed. Most of them instead had the dignity to politely ignore the association. The only negative thing that could be said about Prince Caysath was that he was not as invested in Earth as Aximili would have hoped for his replacement. But then, no other Andalite would have been.

Aximili knew where his open detractors stood. It was the silent, procedural types whom Aximili could trust the least.

‹Prince Aximili?› Caysath repeated.

Aximili had let his main eyes drift and his tail drop by six degrees. Unseemly. He corrected for it but was still embarrassed. ‹Yes?›

‹Go see to your humans. I will send you my reports as I file them.› Caysath gave Aximili a patient smile. He knocked their tail blades together casually as he passed then walked commandingly towards his First Officer on the other side of the base. Aximili had been right to trust Caysath. Some of the dread he felt about Menderash stowing away in the cargo ship Caysath was escorting ebbed away.

Aximili jogged over to the gathering. Truly, since both Marco and Tobias had decided to stay, Aximili only had to bid farewell to Jake. Jeanne Gerard seemed impressive, both in her credentials and the way she carried herself. Tobias seemed fond of her, but Aximili hardly knew her at all. Sergeant Santorelli cared for Marco a great deal, which at least indicated he was a man of outstanding patience, if not entirely sound judgment. Aximili appreciated his apparent kindness and his observed helpfulness, but Aximili didn’t really know him either. 

He still didn’t want to be left out.

“ -- give you a million dollars. Literally,” Marco was saying to Jake as Aximili approached.

“You know I don’t need that,” Jake said. “Plus, it’s not worth it. I want to be out of state when Eva finds out. Witness protection, maybe.”

‹Are you discussing the logistics of telling Marco’s mother he isn’t returning with everyone else?› Aximili guessed.

“Yeah,” Marco said, glancing up at Aximili. “As in I’m not gonna do it.”

“Dude. You have to tell Eva. She’ll lose it if you just don’t come home,” Jake said.

‹To be fair,› Aximili interjected. ‹She’s probably going to ‘lose it’ regardless.›

“Right?” Marco said.

Jeanne turned and looked at Marco then back to Santorelli. “Isn’t it so sad for Marco that he has a mother who cares _too_ much?” she said. She was affecting a tone of sarcasm, but her voice was also deeply bitter.

Aximili had read her file. She and her family had been infested during the war. Her father had been a diplomat and her mother had been a translator; they had been political targets for the Yeerks, for their goals of international expansion. Their prodigy daughters had been taken as an unnecessary twist of the blade. Jeanne was the only one who made it to the other side of the war.

Santorelli looked uncomfortably between Jeanne and Marco. It was apparent he wanted no part in taking sides between the two of them. Aximili didn’t know the details of Santorelli’s family situation; it apparently hadn’t been pertinent to his service record. But his reasons for discomfort were obvious. 

“If you think it’s so sad,” Marco said, taking Jeanne’s affront in stride. “ _You_ could tell her.” Jeanne just laughed at him.

Six years ago, if someone had remarked on his mother, Marco’s response would have been vicious. Of course, his tolerance had increased because he had saved her, not because Marco was any less easily provoked. Aximili wondered if Marco thought about how much they had changed. Aximili had been considering it a lot since Marco had decided to stay. 

Aximili had been surprised when Tobias asked if he could remain as well. Beyond his initial relief that the pressure test of his relationship would be balanced by the presence of his _shorm_ , Aximili’s primary feeling was hopeful excitement. After the way the war ended, he had thought he would never get the opportunity to bring Tobias into his family. Now he would be able to share his home and culture with the two people who were most important to him. 

Marco would have insisted there was “a catch.”

“Hey Ax,” Jake said. “Will you review some details of this trip with me?” He gestured for Aximili to follow him.

‹Of course.› Aximili walked shoulder to shoulder with Jake along the length of Caysath’s cruiser. They walked toward the ocean, to a part of the base with less hoof traffic. ‹Do you have the itinerary?›

“No, I just wanted to talk,” Jake said. 

‹I see.› Humans often used minor deceptions to avoid awkward situations. Communication via mouth sounds necessitated privacy when Andalites would have just held a private conversation in front of others. Because Aximili had spent so much time with humans in his formative years, he actually thought his own culture’s way was somewhat rude. It was efficient, though, and he certainly did it himself.

“How are you holding up?” Jake asked under his breath.

‹I am very good at surviving,› Aximili responded. The answer was coy, possibly even ironic. 

“Yeah. I see what you did there,” Jake said. “If you ever want to talk about anything, um, I guess my parents have an Andalite phone? I can take it to my place. And get my dad to show me how to use it.”

Aximili appreciated that Jake was reaching out to him. He still respected him. He was grateful that Jake had been willing to put together a crew to save him. But Jake only knew what it felt like to lose soldiers in battle, honorably, the way a leader should. Jake had made plenty of mistakes, but he made those calls during war. Aximili had lost his whole crew in peacetime, over a hundred lives, because he’d been lured into a trap. Jake had many reasons for the bad calls he had made. Aximili’s only justification was stupidity.

And even so, Aximili wasn’t even sure Jake would have good advice for him. _Don’t handle it the way I did_ , perhaps. 

‹Thank you for the offer.›

“Even if you just need to get away from Marco,” Jake insisted.

‹I anticipate that will happen frequently. Are you prepared to take on that kind of responsibility?›

Jake laughed suddenly, like he was surprised at Aximili’s well-developed sense of humor. Everyone, even Marco -- perhaps especially Marco -- had been treating Aximili as if he were something fragile about to crumble in front of them. Only Tobias seemed to understand what Aximili needed. 

Jake’s face fell and again he looked solemn. “Listen, though. I know you probably think you’ve already been through the worst of it. And maybe you have; no one can understand what that was like.” He paused and brushed some of his hair behind his ear. “But for me the worst part was having nothing left to do. Realizing how much the war defined me. Being alone with myself and my decisions. The quiet.”

Aximili nodded. ‹Yes. I considered myself lucky to have an assignment that put me in harm’s way. I could say I was naïve, but I would be lying if I told you I wouldn’t take it again. The prospect of attempting to live ‘a normal life’ is more frightening.› Aximili forced a smile. ‹Luckily, I will have Marco and I will not have to worry about either normalcy or quiet.›

Jake chuckled. “I’m glad he’s doing this. Mostly because I don’t have the fortitude to deal with him when you’re broken up.”

‹At least he had Sergeant Santorelli to keep him busy on the _Rachel_ ,› Aximili said.

“Yeah,” Jake said. Then he lowered his eyebrows as if he had been presented with a complex equation. “Wait, what?”

Aximili, surprised, dropped his tail nearly to the ground. ‹Was that a secret?›

Jake shook his head. “Don't worry about it. I'm just going to continue to pretend I don't know.”

Aximili examined Jake. They had only spent a small amount of time together since Aximili had awakened. Truthfully, they had only spent a small amount of time together since the war had ended. 

‹What will you do when you return to Earth?› Aximili asked. He knew it was likely a source of anxiety for Jake, but it was one that they shared.

Jake rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. “I might go back to teaching morphing and counter-terrorism. That was good for me, I think. I have some other options. Basically, just try to stay busy. You?”

‹Andalite warriors are expected to cultivate a secondary occupation to return to in times of peace. We have been at war for decades, so this is a source of friction for many, now that we’re not maintaining the fleet at the strength it once was. I will be expected to perform my secondary occupation sixty percent of the time. The rest, I will be relegated to what you would call ‘a desk job.’›

Jake winced. Aximili hadn’t been able to keep the bitterness out of his thought-speak. “Do you even have a secondary occupation?”

Aximili shrugged his shoulders. ‹I have communications engineering skills. That is my father’s occupation. I had not advanced far enough in the Academy to choose my specializations before I was stranded on Earth. So I suppose I will continue to apprentice under my father.›

“Well, I hope that works out for you,” Jake said.

‹I hope so for you as well,› Aximili said. He averted his main eyes. ‹I’m grateful to you. I’m still recovering from my experiences, but if you hadn’t come for me, I would still be under the thrall of The One.›

“Ax. It was no problem. You’re back with your people, but you’ll always be one of us.”

Aximili nodded. ‹Thank you, Prince Jake.›

Jake smiled reluctantly. “You’re welcome, Prince Aximili.”

Jake and Aximili walked back over to the main group. Tobias met Aximili’s eyes and Aximili bobbed a stalk eye in affirmation. Tobias fluttered from Jeanne Gerard’s shoulder to Aximili’s tail blade.

“Prince Caysath just gave us a five minute warning,” Jeanne told Jake. He nodded.

Marco had crossed his arms and was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. So far he had made quite the effort to appear unbothered. As was usually the case, he had reached the point that the emotions he was trying to contain were running over. He cast a sulky look up at Jake. Jake looked down at Marco. In moments like these, it was clear how long they’d known each other. They had all been through war together. Their relationships had all shifted and changed. But at their core, Jake and Marco were still _shorms_. 

Jake bent at the waist and wrapped his arms around Marco. Marco visibly winced but then relaxed. They maintained more space between their bodies than Marco usually did when hugging and patted each other several times roughly on the shoulders. When Jake released Marco, Marco was flushed and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Aximili recognized he was having even more trouble controlling his body’s involuntary responses to his emotions.

Not to be outdone, Santorelli pulled Marco into his chest and lifted him off the ground. “Oof! _Sarge_ ,” Marco groaned. Santorelli buried his face in Marco’s shoulder and hugged him much more tightly than Jake had. Marco patted him weakly on the shoulder. “Okay, come on.”

Santorelli set Marco down. Marco rolled his eyes. He looked to Jeanne next. Her expression was almost Andalite in its impassivity. “I’m not going to hug you,” she said.

Marco’s nostrils flared, and he wrinkled the top of his nose. “I don’t want to be frozen by your ice grip anyway,” he said. He stepped forward and held his fist out towards her. She sighed and gently collided her knuckles against Marco’s. They exchanged acerbic smiles. 

‹Final call,› Caysath announced so that all in range could hear. The stragglers among his crew hastened up the boarding ramp.

“Okay,” Jake said. “Marco, behave yourself. Tobias… you’ll probably be fine. Ax, take care of them. Alright. Time to head home.”

‹Farewell, Prince Jake,› Aximili said. Marco stood tightly next to him, not saying anything.

Jake boarded. Santorelli followed him, going up the ramp backwards -- to the fascinated horror of the Andalites present -- to get a last glimpse and wave in at Marco. 

Jeanne stepped forward toward Aximili. He shifted his hooves uncomfortably until she reached up over Aximili’s back to stroke Tobias’ chest feathers. “Thanks for letting me get to know you.” If Tobias replied, he did so privately. Jeanne rushed to catch up to the others on the ship. 

Aximili expected Marco to make a sarcastic remark about the moment Tobias and Jeanne had shared, but he seemed to be pretending to ignore it. Aximili had been mostly blocking out his link to Marco’s emotions since he’d risen from his comatose state. He tentatively explored their connection. The tumult of Marco’s anxiety and displeasure rolled over him like a cresting wave. He closed himself off again almost immediately.

The base’s staff cleared the takeoff zone, ushering the three of them and a gaggle of intrigued civilians to the safe area. Aximili had become accustomed to the feeling of stalk eyes upon him since he’d returned to his people. He hadn’t objected to the attention when he was considered a hero. He didn’t relish it in the same way Marco did, but there was a certain satisfaction in notoriety. Even the disgruntled military officers who called him “child prince” at least no longer called him “Elfangor’s little brother.” Now Aximili couldn’t be sure if the onlookers were of the camp who considered him a hero returned, or if they were part of the contingent who held him responsible for the slaughter of his crew. The discomfort of not knowing made him shift restlessly. He attempted to ignore their scrutiny.

After they watched the cruiser and the cargo ship that carried their friends leave the atmosphere, Marco turned to Aximili. “What now?”

‹I’m very tired of Theyfla and would be more than satisfied if I wasn’t required to return for a long time,› Aximili said. ‹I’ve requisitioned a shuttlecraft to cross the continent, when you are both ready.›

“I say let’s blow this joint,” Marco said. 

Aximili hesitated. ‹Before we go, did both of you happen to acquire a _kafit_?›

‹I did,› Tobias said quickly.

Marco puckered his lips as if someone had made a bad joke in front of him. “I acquired… _a_ bird. It’s not the _right_ bird. But it’s a bird, I’m pretty sure.”

‹I’m no biologist, but I’m sure whatever you found has sufficient vision to appreciate the _khalla_ ,› Aximili said in a conciliatory tone. 

“Great. Ready when you are.” Marco made a gesture with his hand that indicated he was ready for Aximili to proceed. 

Aximili led them to the edge of town. It wasn’t as if they needed privacy. Aximili was sure any Andalite observers wouldn’t be shocked that his human and hawk companions could morph; their identities were hardly a mystery. But it was considered uncouth to morph in public unless it was one’s profession. Morphing for pleasure was becoming a more common pastime since Earth foods became available on homeworld, but it was still largely considered a tool of intelligence agents. Even if civilians were themselves morphing more frequently, seeing it happen could still be unnerving.

Once they were away from the center of town, Aximili lowered his tail so that Tobias could step off and began to morph to _kafit_. He watched Marco morph, intrigued to find out which of the other two species of birds he’d managed to acquire. Tobias’ morph was also intriguing. A _kafit_ was also a large, predatory bird, so the changes were more subtle for Tobias, mostly a matter of elongation of the body, proliferation of wings and eyes, and a streamlining of his feathers into the sleeker dark blue plumage of the _kafit_. 

Marco’s morph was not so pleasant to watch. For several moments, he awkwardly maintained his height despite rapidly shrinking because his legs simultaneously elongated. At the same time, Marco’s face flattened and his mouth lengthened to about three times its usual width. Aximili could already tell which bird Marco had managed to catch, even before the characteristic eye crest bulged out of either side of his head. 

‹You found a _merulan_ ,› Aximili said with some amusement. ‹They are the smallest and loudest of the three bird species. They are considered pests.›

‹How appropriate,› Tobias said. He had completed his _kafit_ morph and was standing erect, his long body poised for takeoff. He stretched his six wings, already looking natural and comfortable with the morph.

‹Ha ha,› Marco said. 

Marco swiveled his eye crest -- like Andalites, the _merulan_ had evolved mobile eye appendages. Unlike Andalites, the crest of the _merulan_ was thick, fleshy, and protruded from either side of the bird’s head. Paired with their short, wide beaks, this gave the _merulan_ a squashed appearance that contrasted unpleasantly with their long, spindly legs. Andalites favored _kafits_ for their graceful, balanced forms. No Andalite would want to morph a _merulan_.

‹Is your vision acceptable?› Aximili asked.

Marco turned his eye crest, pointing the two eyes on his left stalk at Aximili. ‹I think so. The colors are pretty intense. I’m still figuring out my weird head.› Marco tested his two pairs of wings. ‹Hey, Ax, why does everything on your planet need so many extra limbs and eyes?›

‹If you’re implying that fewer limbs and eyes are better, I don’t see the logic.›

‹Of course you don’t,› Marco said. ‹Okay, I guess I’m ready to see the best grass I’ve ever seen.›

Aximili took off first. Tobias followed effortlessly. Marco flopped around on the ground until he worked out how to coordinate his four wings. Tobias laughed at him openly. Again, Aximili expected a retort from Marco and was surprised at his silence. Marco was eventually able to get airborne, and Aximili led them out to the _khalla_ fields that surrounded Theyfla. 

Theyfla’s streets were demarcated with _khalla_ paths, and as they flew further out, the intense blues and purples snaked out of the city like tributaries rejoining a sea of swirling color. The vast fields bore the trademark patterns of the artists who tended them. One section was branched cerulean electricity against blazing indigo. Another section was intricate acid green fractals, contrasted with a backdrop of deepest violet. Another looked like the ripples of seafoam, subtle midnight _khalla_ rolling into the teal of normal grass. 

‹What do you think?› Aximili asked.

‹It’s beautiful,› Tobias said sincerely.

They circled for several passes before Marco said anything. ‹It’s grass.›

Their contrasting reactions were a perfect illustration of the difference between them. From the way he was comfortable with its unique form of locomotion, Aximili knew that Tobias had already morphed the _kafit_. His _shorm_ had certainly already seen the _khalla_ but lied -- pretending to experience it for the first time to make Aximili happy. 

On the opposite edge of the blade, Marco wouldn’t even pretend to care about the _khalla_ , even for Aximili’s sake. He casually disregarded thousands of years of tradition and the lifetime dedication of hundreds of artists, but he did not compromise his views. There was a certain honor in both approaches but neither were the correct response. Of course, Tobias and Marco were not Andalites and Aximili didn’t expect the correct response from them. 

Aximili sent Marco ahead to finish packing while he retrieved the shuttlecraft. Marco morphed gorilla to load his belongings onto the craft most efficiently. Marco’s six bags took up a full third of the interior of the craft.

“No chairs, as usual,” Marco remarked when he demorphed. 

‹My deepest apologies that Andalite design sensibilities cater to Andalites,› Aximili said dryly. 

Aximili double-checked his sensor array, customized the HUD on the domed viewscreen to his preferences, and verified he’d entered the coordinates to his parents’ scoop correctly. With one stalk eye, he watched Marco arrange his four suitcases lengthwise to form a platform. He stretched out on it and pulled a datapad out of his overnight bag. Tobias swooped in, flared his wings, and landed a bit roughly on the blunt edge of Aximili’s tail blade. Aximili commanded the entrance shut behind him.

As the shuttle lifted into the sky, Aximili surveyed the area for the last time. He was glad to finally be able to depart Theyfla. Even his earliest memories of it were anxious ones. As a small child, he’d made the long shuttle trip with his father, who had been uncharacteristically silent and tense the whole way. His father had left him with Elfangor, whom he had only met a couple times before that. It had been the first time they were alone together. Elfangor had been distracted and high-strung. He hadn’t lived up to his towering reputation -- an appropriate start to a relationship that would always be defined by disappointment, unmet standards, and lack of closure. It was only later that Aximili realized that had been the first time his mother had been held for interrogation and that Elfangor had looked after him while their father had presented evidence for her release. 

There had always been a shadow over Theyfla. Only bad things happened there. This visit hadn’t changed Aximili’s opinion.

Although Aximili was eager to leave, he was also worried. Aximili himself didn’t like Theyfla, so it didn’t really bother him that Marco wasn’t interested or engaged. But if Aximili brought Marco to his own home, where he was proud of his culture and his people, where he actually maintained a dwelling that was more than a place to sleep, a place full of his mostly happy childhood memories… If he brought Marco into his life and Marco was still unimpressed, that would be difficult to deal with. Aximili was far less worried about Tobias. 

Aximili did a final check of the sensors as the shuttle evened out to cruising altitude and gave him an estimated arrival time. Tobias observed keenly over his shoulder. 

‹How long are we going to be cooped up in here?› Tobias asked. He was uneasy in such a cramped space. Aximili could relate. He found himself wondering yet again if Tobias’ particular traits were because he was part-Andalite, because he was Elfangor’s son, or just because he was Tobias. Aximili hoped his family would also see these similarities, despite Tobias' outward appearance.

‹We will arrive in about six Earth hours,› Aximili answered, trying to keep his tone neutral. He’d hardly wanted to be indoors, let alone in a cramped shuttle full of luggage. But Aximili was a warrior and a prince. Expressing such anxiety, even among friends, was shameful.

‹Jeez,› Tobias grumbled. ‹You should have sprung for the sleeper car.›

‹It appears Marco, at least, has worked that out,› Aximili commented.

Marco glanced up from his datapad and looked at them over his shoulder. “I can’t stop you guys from talking about me behind my back, but don’t just give me one side of the conversation,” he huffed and turned back to the pad. 

Aximili’s fur prickled. He switched to private thought-speak. ‹I didn’t know you were excluding Marco from the conversation,› he said to Tobias.

‹Habit, I guess,› Tobias muttered. 

Aximili examined them both. There was very little that could be gleaned from Tobias’ body language. Marco was tense, prodding at his datapad as if interacting more forcefully with a hologram would make it work better. ‹Is there something going on between the two of you?›

“No,” Marco answered quickly, without looking up. He may as well have said the opposite.

Aximili switched back to private thought-speak. ‹Tobias?› 

‹He was intolerable the whole time we were on the _Rachel_ ,› Tobias said. ‹Like he was the only one who was allowed to be upset about what happened to you. As if Menderash and I weren’t also messed up about it. He has to make everything The Marco Show.›

Aximili crossed his arms over his chest in a humanlike expression of impatience. He had noticed that Tobias and Marco had hardly interacted, but he didn’t know the extent of the rift between them. It was an awkward position for Aximili. 

‹I am aware that Marco can be challenging, and I know that both of you were deeply affected by my captivity.› Aximili hesitated. ‹But I should think that the experience was actually most difficult for me.›

Tobias ruffled his chest feathers. ‹Yeah. Of course.›

For a long while, no one spoke. Aximili hadn’t envisioned that a trip with the two people who meant the most to him would make him feel more trapped than if he had made it alone. He interfaced with the autopilot settings and tweaked them to attempt to shave more time off their flight. If one of his superiors noticed he had violated safety regulations to expedite his trip, he could claim ignorance. Being the youngest prince in the fleet, trained on the ground, and the hero of the Yeerk War gave Aximili considerable room to push the limits of protocol.

‹It was awful,› Tobias said, penetrating the lengthy silence that had settled into an uncomfortable cloud. ‹I thought I lost you. After I already lost her. And all I could think about was how I let you down. I should have been there. I don’t know how to make that up to you.›

‹You are making it up to me now,› Aximili said. He hoped he sounded sincere and not like he was annoyed at the irony that Tobias was angry at Marco for being selfish while also making the situation about himself. ‹I believe you and Marco have very similar feelings. Perhaps this is why it has been difficult for you to get along.›

‹That’s probably part of it,› Tobias said. He sounded reluctant to admit it. ‹But the rest of it is Marco’s actual behavior. Which hasn’t stopped being awful.›

Aximili sighed. ‹I want you both here. But if you don’t make an attempt to get along, your presence will do more harm than good.› 

Tobias shifted his talons. He diverted his gaze away from Aximili and instead peered out the viewscreen. He tilted his head to the side inquisitively. ‹What’s down there?›

Aximili followed Tobias’ line of sight. ‹The central part of the continent is made up of what we call the Untouched Wilds,› Aximili stated in open thought-speak, in case Marco took an interest. ‹Many parts of homeworld are inhospitable for settlement. Unlike humans, Andalites do not take this as a challenge. 

‹The center of the Wilds is a vast desert with nearly constant raging sandstorms and temperatures that can only be withstood with life support technology. To the north is a frozen tundra, which you know Andalites are ill-equipped to tolerate. But we are currently passing over the Dark Expanse.›

Marco turned, his eyebrows lifted with intrigue. Aximili smiled at Marco's predictability. He continued, ‹The Dark Expanse, as you can see, is a dense jungle. It is legend that no one who has ventured into the Dark Expanse has ever returned. Superstition holds that they are killed by the forest, which is hostile to trespassers.›

Marco rose carefully from his precariously fashioned suitcase cot and joined Aximili and Tobias in front of the viewscreen. “That can't actually be true. Don’t you send in researchers? Exploration teams?” He cast a penetrating stare up at Aximili and added, “Banished criminals? _Vecols_?”

‹Again, unlike humans, we respect nature and tradition. We don’t send even mechanized research probes into the Wilds. And even we aren’t cruel enough to cast undesirables into the Dark Expanse. If they go there to die, it is their choice.›

‹What do your people believe is in there?› Tobias asked. Both Marco and Tobias were transfixed by the unending tangle below. Aximili remembered the fear that had gripped him as a child the first time he passed over the Wilds. He wondered if Marco and Tobias’ strange human evolution drew them into the mystery and danger instead of repelling them. It was a wonder humans had made it so far without help.

‹Andalites have moved beyond our ancient mythologies. But our ancestors believed that the Expanse is alive. Not just alive but conscious. When I say we believe it is hostile to trespassers, that is exactly what I mean.›

Marco leaned forward, as if bringing himself closer would make the image clearer. “That’s BS, right? There’s no way the jungle itself is malevolent.”

Aximili shrugged. ‹Many things in nature are beyond comprehension. Our Guide Trees have measurable consciousness and limited communication abilities. It is not impossible that the the Expanse may also have awareness and intent. We respect it either way.›

Marco’s attention was rapt, as if he were being pulled in. He had a weakness for a mystery or a horror story. He was finally engaged with something about homeworld, even if it was just the stories Andalites told to keep their children from venturing too far from the scoop. Still, his fascination was encouraging. 

Aximili reached out a hand and brushed lightly against Marco’s shoulder blade. Marco gasped sharply and whirled, his hands startled into claws. Aximili smiled, shifting his ears and stalk eyes into an innocent expression. 

It had been a while since he'd gotten to mess with Marco.

Marco scoffed and went back to lounging on his suitcases with his datapad. 

Tobias, however, was still enthralled. ‹Tell me more.›

Aximili spent the rest of the trip pointing out notable features, explaining as much as he could about history and geography, which had never been his strong subjects in school, but Tobias would have even less than a small child’s understanding. As they crossed out of the Wilds and especially when they reached District Two, Aximili’s grasp of their surroundings got better. He was able to explain each forest and plain to Tobias, to note what each region specialized in, to tell him stories of the places he’d been. Tobias listened. He asked questions. He seemed thirsty for everything Aximili could tell him.

He hoped that Tobias also felt like Aximili was bringing him home.

Aximili spotted Naraya, nestled, glittering in the thickly wooded hills. Aximili hadn’t felt so grateful to see the familiar landscape of his home even when he had first returned from Earth. His feelings then had been too muddled with regret for having had to leave, with worries about his duty to his people versus the humans, with anxiety about his relationship with Marco. This time his relief to be home was pure and uncomplicated. The shuttle began its automatic descent, and Naraya disappeared behind the leafy ridges. 

Aximili picked out familiar scoops as they passed. If he were still narrating the trip to Tobias, he could have named the families who lived in each one. He could have pointed out his own primary dwelling, which they passed without slowing. But anticipation was welling up inside him like something physical, like a _djabala_ trying to scrabble its way out of his chest. His hearts pounded out an uneven rhythm, and he could barely keep his hooves grounded. He had only a sliver of focus as he completed the landing checklist and forwarded the report to central command.

He could see his father waiting outside their scoop, looking up at the shuttle. Even though it was impossible, Aximili felt like they were making eye contact as he landed. 

Forgetting his position, his company, and propriety, Aximili burst from the shuttle as soon as the hatch hit the ground. He ran for his father at full tilt, nearly colliding with him. His father grabbed him by the upper arms, pulled him close, and pressed their foreheads together.

‹Aximili-kala.› His father’s thought-speak was like a blanket of emotion. It wrapped around Aximili just as tangibly as his father’s tail, which encircled him protectively. He hadn’t done that since Aximili was a child. Aximili welcomed it, even though it would have usually embarrassed him. ‹You’re home.›

‹I’m home.›


	17. Chapter 17

MARCO

_May 2002  
3970.3.54_

“You look busy.” 

Marco glanced up from his phone as his dad sat down across from him. Marco flipped his sunglasses to the top of his head and held up a single finger. He finished his text message -- _you’re an idiot if you think_ Futurama _is better than_ The Simpsons _just because it has aliens_ \-- and took a long sip of his java chip. “I’m always busy.”

“Well,” Peter said, “thanks for penciling me in.”

“Anything for my dad,” Marco said. “Anyway, I’m meeting with real estate agents, so I was in town.”

“Anything for your dad,” Peter repeated. Something was off about his tone. It wasn’t quite ironic and it wasn’t playful. Things had been weird since his parents separated.

“What’s up?” Marco took another sip, pressing the ice and chocolate nibs into the roof of his mouth until it all melted. “If you’re asking me to take a message to Mom, I’m gonna be pissed. You said you weren’t going to put me through that stupid ‘child of divorce’ BS.”

“I’m not asking you to take a message to Eva.” Peter sighed. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, scratched his collarbone, and wiped his hands off on his pants. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and clasped his hands on the table in front of them. Like a guy who was nervous for his job interview.

“Good,” Marco said. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this. You didn’t even try to make up with Mom.”

Peter frowned. “Eva and I aren’t fighting. We made a mutual decision. We can’t be together the way we were.”

“The war was only like six months ago. Mom’s getting better. How do you even know what you can’t do now that things are normal again?”

“Things will never be normal again, Marco!” Marco jumped and let out an involuntary gasp of surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time his dad raised his voice. It had always been Marco who did the yelling at Peter. Marco hunched over and glanced around. If anyone noticed, they had the sense not to stare at _Marco Lisiewicz Castillo_ , war hero and rising TV personality. 

“Jeez, Peter, calm down,” Marco muttered.

“I can’t do this,” Peter said. He put his hands under the table to try to hide their shaking. “I’m not here to talk about me and your mom. I’m here to talk about you.”

“Well, get on with it.” Marco sneered, “You should have done this at home -- I mean at _me and Mom’s place_ \-- if you were planning on embarrassing me.”

“This isn’t normal,” Peter repeated. “You’re my sixteen-year-old son, and you haven’t stopped telling me what to do since I sat down. You’re out of control. You’ve been out of control for years.”

Marco barked out a harsh laugh. Peter jumped, almost a reflection of Marco’s earlier reaction to Peter’s outburst. “Dad. Maybe you don’t know this about me, but I kind of saved the world last year? It was on the news. I think I have an excuse if I’ve not been the most obedient.”

“It’s not about obedience. You don’t know who the parent is in this relationship.”

Marco narrowed his eyes. He licked his lips. “I think we know how that happened, and it has nothing to do with the war.”

“I know it’s my fault,” Peter said, his voice thick. “I know I forced you to grow up before you ever became a soldier. I lie awake thinking of it. I can’t make it up to you. And I’ve cut you a lot of slack because of what I did. But I can’t keep going on like this after… after everything you did last year.”

“What did I do?” Marco said quietly, low and smooth. “Was it when I literally pulled your head out of a Yeerk pool? Was it when I killed the slug that enslaved Mom and ruined our lives? Or was it when I won the war?”

“It was when you coerced Eva and me back together,” Peter said. It sounded careful, like he’d practiced it. “Your mother and I aren’t dolls in your dollhouse.” 

Marco leaned forward over the table, and Peter actually scooted his chair back. “Fuck you, Dad, I’ve never had a _dollhouse_ ,” Marco snapped. He glanced down at Peter’s shaking hands, back up at the look of real fear in his eyes. Marco schooled his face into the sympathetic mask he’d perfected in the mirror for those especially heartbreaking interviews. “Come on, Dad. Let’s not do this. Come back to my place -- we’ll watch _Star Trek_. Like old times. Things are weird now, but they don’t have to be.”

Peter shook his head. He was trying to look stony, but his chin trembled. “Nora. You let them enslave her. Then you told me our whole relationship was a lie. You manipulated me.”

Marco’s mask fell. His mouth fell open. He snapped it shut and tilted his head to the side, squinting. “How do you know that?” 

“ _Marco,_ ” Peter said incredulously, “How could you? How can you look at me now and be completely unremorseful?” 

Marco stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “It was war!” He slammed his hand down on the table. His dad flinched and didn’t relax. 

The breath rough in his throat, Marco glanced around. Now people were staring. He locked eyes with a girl. She was maybe seventeen, eighteen. Pretty. Her mouth gaped in that starstruck way that reminded Marco of what winning felt like. He flashed her a smile, brushed a piece of hair behind his ear, and beckoned her over. Marco watched with satisfaction as her face flushed bright red. She pointed at herself and mouthed “me?” Marco dialed up the charm, pretended to look around for someone else, then motioned her over more emphatically.

While she fumbled with her purse, Marco looked back to Peter, feeling his expression go flat as he did. Peter’s shoulders were still tense and his face had gone white.

The girl’s ankles wobbled as she walked over. A pen and small journal trembled in her hands. She was blinking a lot, like she could burst into tears at any moment. “Oh -- oh my god, Marco Castillo.” 

“Yep,” he said brightly. He motioned at Peter, who looked like he was watching a grotesque horror movie. “And this is my dad, Peter Castillo -- he took my mom’s name, isn’t that _sweet_? He’s responsible for at least half of me.”

“Which half?” Peter said flatly.

“Hopefully the sensible half,” Marco said, still smiling. Peter’s mouth curled into a grimace. 

“I can’t -- it’s an honor -- you’re amazing,” she enthused, bubbling over like a bottle of champagne. 

“I know,” Marco said. He tipped his chin at her journal. “Did you want me to sign that for you?” Her breath caught in her throat like she’d forgotten what she was doing. She nodded. Marco took her hand in his as she handed over her book and pen. He gave her a reassuring squeeze that made her stop breathing. “What’s your name?”

“Juliana,” she said breathlessly.

Marco opened the back cover of the book and wrote his generic autograph message that was carefully tailored to sound personal. He scribbled off his signature -- he hadn’t quite pinned down the character of it, so it looked slightly different each time he signed it. Underneath, he doodled a gorilla face with sharp teeth showing. He was releasing his book soon; he had to keep building the brand.

Smiling his charming half smile, Marco handed Juliana her journal back. “Thank you,” she gasped. Then she met his eyes. “Really. _Thank you._ ”

“I just did what I had to do,” Marco said sincerely. Juliana nodded, blinking back tears, and went back to her own table to start furiously texting.

Marco sat back in his seat and folded his arms. “You think you trapped me here in public,” he hissed. “But I saved the world. There is no neutral zone.” 

“What’s happened to you?” Peter said, his voice cracking.

“Who cares? I protected my family. No one else did what I did. Have you talked to the Berensons lately? I think you got off easy, all things considered.”

Peter shook his head. “You’re right -- I never had to be a Controller. I just had my agency taken away by my own son, and I have to live with that violation instead.”

“Yeah, Dad, it’s totally the same.” Marco’s mouth was sticky and bitter like he was breathing bug spray. “There’s a _reason_ Mom is grateful to me. And it’s not because I’m just like a Yeerk. She’d know.”

“I know you’ve been through more than I can ever understand. A lot of it was my fault. I wasn’t the dad you deserved. But that doesn’t mean the world is indebted to you, regardless of what you did and who you hurt.”

“Yes. It does.” Marco pushed his drink aside and leaned over the table again. Peter seemed to lean back reflexively and that just pissed Marco off. “Who have you been talking to? About Nora.”

“I deserved the truth. Nora and I had something, and you made me think it wasn’t real. You took her away from me. I would have rather we were both enslaved.”

Marco balled his hands into fists. “It’s Ax, isn’t it? He told you.”

“He’s an alien, and he has more empathy than you. He cares about Nora. He’s helping me find her.” Peter swallowed, struggling to meet Marco’s eyes.

“You left Mom and now you’re going behind my back and making my boyfriend find the woman you’re leaving her for?” Marco put his fists on the table. Peter shrank.

“You can’t control everyone in your life.” Peter paused. “Your reactions when people do things you don’t like scare me,” he said.

Marco bit back his kneejerk responses. They were things like _you should be scared_ and _then maybe stop doing things I don’t like_. “So why’d you ask me to come here?”

“I can’t keep doing this. You won’t acknowledge you made mistakes.” 

“I had to make decisions. I had no choice. That’s who I was.” Marco peered into Peter’s eyes. They glistened like he was forcing back tears. “It’s who _you_ made me.”

Peter looked down, blinking hard. He drew in an uneven breath. He looked back up at Marco as if searching for something in him. Marco remained perfectly still, gaze even with Peter’s red-rimmed, wet eyes. Peter fumbled in his shirt pocket. He took out a business card and slid it across the table toward Marco. “This is my therapist. I see him on Thursdays at four.”

Marco looked down at the card, didn’t take it, looked back up at Peter. “And?”

“And if you want a relationship with me, you’ll come do the work,” Peter said.

Marco pushed himself away from the table, the chair legs squealing against the floor. “Don’t threaten me,” he muttered, his voice low and throaty. Marco swallowed hard against the heat rising in his chest and walked out to the street. He called his driver, then he started a long, angry text to Ax.

* * *

_June 2004  
3971.1.70_

If Marco thought the first region they landed in was lush with weird vegetation, he was forced to recalibrate his definition of “lush” when they reached Ax’s home region. Ax had been acting as tour guide for Tobias, who was still gunning for teacher’s pet bird. Marco looked up when Ax fell silent. His cool, aloof mask slipped a bit, but luckily, Ax was too focused on the landscape to notice. It was understandable. The view was literally jaw dropping, if you had a jaw to drop.

Three tributaries snaked out from the interior of the continent and merged into one large river that curved in and out of the rolling blue hills. The whole area was bathed in fog suspended under the treeline like a trapped layer of eerily glowing clouds. The river split off into a complicated delta formation before joining the sea, breaking the city nestled into its base into districts, each on their own tiny islands. Each islet was connected with a distinct, intricately-designed bridge. Naraya’s buildings were still primarily glassy domes and curved geometric structures, but they were closer together and more varied than the sterile, homogenous architecture of Theyfla. 

It was easy to see what Ax meant about it being the artistic and cultural hub of his people. For the first time since he arrived, Marco actually wanted to explore. He was glad Ax wasn’t paying attention to his reaction. He didn’t want Ax to think he was easily impressed. He wanted him to work for it.

The shuttle descended, and the city disappeared behind the hills and trees and fog. On the other side of the continent, there had been diversity between the forests, but each type had been separated, like carefully cultivated orchards. In this region, the forest seemed to be made up of distinct layers. The highest level of tall, skinny trees had branches all at the top like a spider web of roots, giving them an upside down feeling. Thick bundles of leaves formed the canopy, mostly a melange of blues sprinkled with purples and cyans, but every few feet, clusters of flowers in dark reds, pinks, and oranges draped down among acid green vines. The middle layer of forest was alight with huge, flat leaves edged with glowing bioluminescence that turned the fog ghostly opaque blues and pinks, like street lights in the rain. 

Marco alternated his attention between the alien landscape, the datapad in his hand that wasn’t distracting him at all, and Ax, who was shifting his hooves like he was next in line for Matthew Perry’s autograph. When the shuttle landed and the hatch opened, Ax blew out with no concern for Marco or Tobias. Tobias fluttered from Ax’s tail and landed on the control console, flapping backward and repositioning his talons awkwardly.

He’d given Tobias a wide berth since he’d broken his neck and threatened to murder him, but Marco’s famous self-control was faltering. Maybe Tobias was axe-crazy, but teasing him was basically an instinct at this point. Marco smirked at Tobias, who was still flaring his wings for balance and trying not to press buttons with his claws. “Ready to meet your alien grandpa, Birdboy?”

Tobias’ shoulder feathers bristled. ‹Like you’re not nervous. They’re basically your in-laws.›

"I spent three days alone with Forlay. If Ax’s dad hates me more than her, he’ll just put me out of my misery. Oh huh,” he said, pretending like he’d just realized something. “You think that’s a family trait?” Marco gave Tobias a pointed look. 

‹If it is, Ax is playing a long game.›

“Ax only inherited the ‘put out’ part,” Marco said. 

‹I liked it better when you were struggling underneath me,› Tobias muttered.

Marco snorted. “That’s _definitely_ a family trait.”

‹ _Ugh_ ,› Tobias groaned. ‹Of all the people on Earth, I had to share an inscrutable space destiny with you.›

Marco stood and brushed off his jeans. “Yeah, real impressive planning there, getting yourself stranded with me.” Marco held his arm out for Tobias and flashed him a wicked grin. “Want a ride, nephew-in-law?”

Tobias fluttered to Marco’s arm and sank his talons in. Marco winced and tightened his fist but held steady. A trickle of blood seeped from Tobias’ grip. ‹We’re not related, Marco.›

“We’ll work on your if-then relationships. If we ever go back to Earth, maybe you can get your GED too,” Marco said. 

‹ _If_ you don’t start walking, _then_ I’m going to bite off your nose.›

Marco shook his head and disembarked the shuttle. “Have you ever worried that isolation has given you a violent streak?”

‹Have you ever worried that if you stop talking, you’ll actually have to think for once?›

“Sometimes it’s like you really get me.” 

It was unsettling how easy it was to fall back into at least an imitation of their usual banter. Marco wasn’t about to forget Tobias’ threats. But he was still Tobias, no matter how many branches he hit falling out of the crazy tree. Going on with the dynamic they’d had for seven years was easier than walking on eggshells. Marco could be wary of Tobias’ instability while acting normal with him for Ax’s sake. He was great at multitasking.

The shuttle had landed among a patch of raised pinkish leaves that looked like lily pads but were shaped like rounded-edged stars. They brushed up against his ankles, peeking brightly through the thin blanket of mist. Marco chose his steps carefully so as not to trample their delicate stems. He looked up when he was on safe grass and felt heat rise to his chest and face.

A larger, silvery blue Andalite Marco assumed was Ax’s father held him by the upper arms in the closest thing Marco had ever seen to an Andalite hug. Their faces were pressed together, and Ax peered up into his dad’s eyes. He spotted Marco and Tobias with a stalk eye and turned to them, smiling. Marco felt a mixture of Ax’s sheepishness and pride in the back of his mind, mingling with whatever hot, uncomfortable tightness was causing him to feel like he was choking. 

Ax’s father unwound his tail from around his son and turned to greet his visitors. His big alien eyes were warm and welcoming. His main eyes were focused on Tobias and he regarded Marco with a stalk eye. Marco wasn’t insulted. The minor slight was understandable, given the context.

‹Father, a leaf that was blown far from your branch has returned to our tree,› Ax recited solemnly. Tobias’ talons bit deeper into Marco’s arm. Marco took in a sharp breath but didn’t otherwise react.

‹Even leaves that have fallen far are eventually blown back to their tree,› Ax’s father said, emotion heavy in his thought-speak.

‹This is Elfangor’s son, Tobias,› Ax said. ‹And this is my father, Noorlin-Sirinial-Cooraf.›

‹I have been eager to meet you since Aximili explained the circumstances of your… existence,› Noorlin said. ‹I’m unfathomably grateful that you were able to provide a family connection while he was so far from home.›

Marco looked over at Tobias. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. Marco wouldn’t be surprised if he was having a little bird panic attack. Marco didn’t believe in karma, but he did believe in payback. 

After a couple minutes of uneasy silence, Noorlin continued, ‹I would be honored if you would perch on my arm or flank, as you appear to be damaging this human to whom I have not been formally introduced.› Noorlin glanced at Ax, gently scolding. For some reason, Marco was more annoyed by how Noorlin treated Ax than he was by Forlay. He hadn’t expected Ax’s dad to be so… sweet? It was weird and unexpected for an Andalite. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest twisted tighter.

Tobias puffed up and opened his wings, like he was being confronted by a raccoon in his tree. Marco would have felt sorry for him if the guy hadn’t threatened to stick him like a pig the day before. Marco decided to help Tobias out and flung his arm in an arc toward Noorlin. Tobias was forced to flap off and settled awkwardly at the base of Noorlin’s tail, his feathers still spiking awkwardly in a ruff around his neck.

Ax looked apprehensive. ‹Did Mother explain to you my relationship with Marco?›

Noorlin obviously didn’t share Ax’s tendency toward human body language, but Marco knew enough about Andalite microexpressions to be able to tell that Noorlin’s relaxed stalk eyes and light sigh were the equivalent of an exasperated eyeroll. ‹Aximili-kala. Please introduce your mate.›

Ax winced. Andalites were rarely so direct about romantic relationships. ‹Father…›

Noorlin touched Ax’s shoulder. ‹This is your home, Aximili-kala. You have to be someone else everywhere but here. I wonder if things would have turned out differently if Elfangor had felt like he could share his experiences with humanity with us. I want you to know that you can.›

Marco sucked in a deep breath. After Ax had made such a big deal about Andalite superiority, this wasn’t what Marco had primed himself for. Forlay’s reactions to him had definitely been more in line with what Ax told him to expect. Ax also seemed taken aback. Ax knew his parents weren’t typical Andalites, but even he wasn’t prepared for his dad to be so accepting. 

Ax shook his head like he was trying to clear his thoughts. ‹Father, this is Marco. He is… as you said. We fought side-by-side, and he made a place for me in his family during the war.›

Noorlin bowed his upper torso toward Marco. ‹Thank you for giving Aximili a second home. It is clear how important Earth is to him. Earth is important to our whole family,› Noorlin said, one stalk eye on Tobias. ‹Menderash’s report stated you were instrumental in locating and recovering Aximili. We are truly indebted to you.›

“Menderash really said that?” Marco raised his eyebrows, an expression which seemed to intrigue Noorlin. “Well, uh, you’re welcome.”

‹What is the human equivalent of touching tail blades?› Noorlin asked Ax.

‹The handshake,› Ax said. ‹But you don’t have to touch hands with Marco. I believe he understands your gratitude.› 

‹Ah, yes. I have seen that ritual in your human media.› Noorlin held his hand out to Marco like a fancy lady who expected him to kiss it. Marco grinned, fighting back the urge to do just that. Marco could tell Ax was close to his dad -- he could see some of Ax’s mannerisms in Noorlin, some of his openness. He could also tell Noorlin was embarrassing Ax. He couldn’t tell if Noorlin was the kind of dad who did that on purpose. He was the kind of dad who was actually pretty cute if he wasn’t _your_ dad. The cool dad. Twist.

Marco took Noorlin’s hand and gave him an underhanded handshake like he would a delicate old woman. “Thank you for being so welcoming.” He could tell Ax was relieved. It was important for Marco to make a good impression on his dad, probably more than Forlay.

‹Is Mother inside?›

‹Yes,› Noorlin said. He sounded tired. ‹Our networks have been in crisis since your rescue and we no longer have Menderash to do my job better than me. She has given me few breaks.› Noorlin smiled wryly, and Marco realized that Ax didn’t just share mannerisms with his father. He could see the familial resemblance in Ax: Noorlin’s heavier features cut with Forlay’s more streamlined build. ‹We are fortunate she allowed time for this reunion.›

“Your mom is basically one of the top job creators on Andalite, huh?” Marco said sardonically. 

‹Our faction has grown exponentially in the last year,› Noorlin confirmed. Marco wasn’t sure Noorlin had caught his sarcasm. ‹Since the War ended, it has become more clear to civilians that the military’s role in our society is overreaching. Forlay’s stances have gone from treacherous to reasonable.›

‹Mother is still a traitor,› Ax said. Marco held his breath and shifted his gaze between the two of them.

Noorlin smiled a weary smile at his son. ‹Of course. As am I. You are the last hope for honor in our family.›

Marco snorted. “I like your dad, Ax. He knows you’re uptight.”

Ax drew himself up, holding his tail higher than his father’s civilian bearing. ‹Can we go for a run, or will Mother trample you if you take time off for an hour?›

‹We will catch up, Aximili-kala, don’t worry.› Noorlin touched his tail blade to Ax’s. ‹However, what I really want is to get to know my grandson. Tobias, will you take a walk with me?› As usual, Tobias excluded Marco from his answer. He was so annoying. ‹Go see your mother; we will run together soon. Please let me know if another disaster occurs. This work has been a life in _yaolin_. I need the break.›

Ax sighed like a petulant child. Noorlin smiled indulgently at him. He turned and walked toward the forest, Tobias still riding on his haunches.

Ax looked down at Marco. ‹I think that went very well.›

“I’m pretty sure he likes me better than your mom does.” Now that Noorlin was gone, Marco felt weirdly empty, like something familiar had been stripped away from him.

‹Actually, I don’t think my mother dislikes you. If I know her, she will soon like you better than me.› Maybe it was some kind of bad sign, but Marco liked the dark streak in Ax that had become more pronounced since his rescue. 

“I guess we should go say hi to your mom?” Marco tried not to sound too unenthused.

Ax was unenthused enough for both of them. ‹I suppose we have to.›

“You know, you’re a pretty good actor, but I get the sense that you’re closer to your dad,” Marco said.

‹You have always been perceptive for a human.›

“Too bad they’re a package deal, huh? You could be like me and only have to deal with one of them.” Marco felt the right side of his mouth falter.

There it was. That was why he was jealous of Ax’s relationship with his dad.

Ax examined Marco’s expression. He knew how Marco felt about his parents. It had been the plan that had failed the most spectacularly. It had been Ax’s biggest “I told you so” moment, and that had been in their top three worst fights as a couple. It was a fight that had raged across the galaxy. 

Ax let him joke. ‹Unfortunately, it is unlikely I will ever be able to choose which parent I have to associate with at a time. My parents are quite different, but I believe they adore each other.›

“Gross,” Marco said.

‹I know.› Ax sighed, pointing a stalk eye at his parents’ scoop entrance. He looked down at his hooves with his main eyes, then back to Marco. He placed a velvety palm against Marco’s cheek. ‹I’m glad you are here and that you had an auspicious meeting with my father. I am pleased with you.›

Marco stood on his tiptoes to brush Ax’s cheek with his fingertips. Ax closed his main eyes and inhaled slowly. “I can tell your dad is important to you,” Marco said. When Ax opened his eyes, looking a little dreamy, Marco gave him a wicked smile. “Besides, I know if I’m very impressive, you’ll eventually show me how pleased you are in private.”

Ax shook his head. ‹I don’t know, your recent performance evaluations indicate praise may not be your most efficient motivator.›

“There are lots of ways to show appreciation, and I know you’re creative.” Marco leaned into Ax’s chest. “Y’know. It’s almost too bad you have your own place. Messing around at your parents’ would almost be like old times.”

Ax wrinkled the top of his nose slits and shoved Marco away. ‹My parents may be atypical, but I do not want to murder them.›

“Let’s go see your mom and see how sure you are of that.”

Ax led the way to his parents’ scoop. Of all the Andalite dwellings Marco had seen, it reminded him the most of Gafinilan’s greenhouse more than any actual scoops. Neat rows of vines spiraled out along the perimeter of the scoop, with bell-shaped flowers that softly illuminated the haze that hung low to the ground. On either side of the scoop a little further out were various leafy plants that were clearly being cultivated for some purpose -- Marco recognized _illsipar_ among them. The perimeter of what Marco assumed was their “property” (whatever the Andalite concept of property even was) was surrounded by _derrishoul_ trees alternating with another type of short, softer trees that were groomed into swooping abstract shapes. Marco had to assume that Noorlin was a gardener, although the idea of Forlay hacking aggressively at their decorative plants was pretty funny.

Ax engaged the entrance, and Marco followed him down the slope. Marco could immediately tell that this was more of a home than any scoop he’d seen. The skylight overhead was more mottled than Ax seemed to prefer, like sunglasses imbued with a cloud pattern, tinted so that the red sky appeared purple from inside. It was lived-in, with ornate textiles on the ground and walls and holos of Ax’s family at the workstations. It was weird to see Elfangor in a normal context. Obviously, Marco knew Elfangor was Ax’s family, but to Marco he would really always just be a dying alien prince.

Their scoop was also way bigger than any of the others, with partition walls on either side of the ample living space. This was a four-person home instead of the improvised one-person residences he was familiar with. This was where Ax had grown up.

The whole far wall of the scoop was stacked with holographic projections of various data streams. Marco had seen a much smaller, less intense version of the same setup at Mertil’s. Forlay seemed to have about ten times more going on than Mertil, and Marco always thought Mertil seemed to work too hard. Marco could also tell that at least four of the two dozen displays were feeding critical errors, pulsing orange instead of the standard Andalite blue. Forlay was looking between all the displays, issuing thought commands, dismissing windows. She had that twitchy, restless air Ax got when he was frustrated.

‹Hello, Mother,› Ax said.

Marco barely expected her to interrupt her work, but she crossed the scoop, held both of Ax’s wrists, and linked her tail blade with his. ‹It’s good to have you home.›

Ax shifted his stalk eyes uncomfortably. ‹It’s good to be home. You’re busy.›

Forlay snorted. ‹Thanks to you. Our servers have actually gone down several times since we broke the news you’re alive.›

‹Father must be losing his touch,› Ax said.

‹One of our military informants disclosed that there’s a dedicated Intelligence team attacking us nonstop. We’re having to cycle encryption every minute.›

‹Please don’t tell me these things, Mother. I only know you are a journalist and a poet.›

‹Unrelated to spying activities, your father and I are sleeping in shifts. We need someone dedicated to this effort, but I’m low on trusted operatives and Mertil’s security skills are… remedial, at best.›

‹He would be outraged to hear you call him remedial in any way,› Ax commented.

‹Mertil is as good at security as he is at tail fighting,› Forlay said dryly.

Marco spat out a laugh. Forlay stared at him as if she’d just noticed him. “Sorry. Ax hasn’t trained me not to bark yet.” Ax’s shoulders tensed. He narrowed his eyes at Marco, who winked. 

Forlay turned back to Ax, refusing to acknowledge Marco any further. 

‹Menderash will arrive on Earth soon,› Ax offered.

‹He’s out of the organization,› Forlay said coldly. 

The fur spiked up along Ax’s spine. ‹Mother. It is inappropriate for me to even discuss this with you --›

‹For many reasons,› Forlay agreed, but again, Marco thought she sounded proud. She liked when he didn’t toe the line of princely protocol.

‹Menderash is your most loyal agent. He is the person to whom you would normally assign this task. He is more suited to it even than Father. Don’t punish him.›

‹You speak as if my decision is personal.›

‹I know you, Mother. I also know him. Don’t take away the only thing he has left.›

‹You’re right, Aximili, you’re out of line. I don’t need you to tell me how to run my organization.›

‹You made him my business when you assigned him to spy on me. He is my subordinate too. You knew what he was, and you entangled him with our family. To shun him now is cruel, even for you.›

‹I did not care that he was thirdborn. He is something entirely different now.›

‹What, human?› Ax retorted. ‹Yes, they are deficient and untrustworthy. It is why I owe my life to them many times over.›

‹If I could have given you the gift of adequate judgment, you wouldn’t have lost the Intrepid.›

‹Yes,› Ax said, dripping with sarcasm, ‹Because it is flawless judgment to cast out the best snake in the den of snakes because of a personal grudge.›

‹What is a snake?› Forlay hissed.

Marco laughed again and both Forlay and Ax rounded on him. “Sorry. I guess. I just thought Andalites didn’t have soap operas.”

‹Soap… opera?› Forlay repeated, more confused.

“I don’t really get why you’re so pissed at Ash, but you might be interested in the intelligence reports we were reviewing on the _Rachel_. I have a timeline and a working list of implicated parties who’ve undermined diplomatic efforts in former Yeerk worlds. We don’t know the full extent of it and the threads don’t quite lead all the way there, but Menderash thinks the same faction were responsible for Ax’s capture.” Both Forlay and Ax stared at Marco. “I also have some of Menderash’s access keys but I dunno how inclined to share them I am if he’s not still on the project. I mean, I’m a dumb human and all. I probably don’t even know what I have. I know how to delete it, though.”

Forlay’s stalk eyes shuddered. ‹Aximili, is your human threatening me?›

‹Talk to Marco directly, Mother.› Ax’s tone was ice cold. He was looking at Marco darkly.

“How can I threaten you with something that doesn’t belong to you?” Marco said, carefully aloof. “This is bargaining. I need Menderash’s help, and the files are in my possession. Andalites are good at math; I’m sure you can work that equation out.”

Behind Forlay, six more streams blinked orange in a wave. ‹ _Leythlan! Yaolin! Serahal!_ › She turned back to her wall of screens, issued a few commands, and stabilized a couple of the warnings, but it was clear they were in crisis again. Every muscle in her body tensed. She was twisting her tail like a corkscrew. ‹Aximili, get your father. Human, bring what you’ve found to me the next time you come here.›

Marco crossed his arms. “That’s gonna be when Menderash checks in to tell you he’s safe on Earth and ready to report for duty.”

‹Fine, just leave,› Forlay demanded. ‹Aximili?›

‹I’m retrieving Father. Come on, Marco.›

“Nice to see you again, Forlay,” Marco said sarcastically. She released another string of what Marco could only assume were Andalite swears. As soon as they were outside, Marco pumped his fist triumphantly. “Did you see that, Ax? I outmaneuvered your mom.”

Ax crossed his arms and whipped his tail in annoyance. Marco felt his face fall. ‹I need to find my father. Please wait for me in the shuttle.›

“You’re mad at me? I just saved Menderash’s job, like you wanted.”

‹I wish that even one person in my life would not compromise my career.› 

Marco laughed, which he knew pissed Ax off more than anything when he was already annoyed. “Right, because there was no issue with me before.”

‹Were you going to tell me? Or was I to find out when you were traced and we were interrogated?›

“Well, honestly, that does sound like the best way to keep your hands clean, doesn’t it?” Ax didn’t look amused. “Listen, I only just started working on it again on the trip here. We thought you were dead on the Rachel. It was a revenge thing. I cooled off when we got you back, but Menderash doesn’t want to let it go. And we are onto something. Wouldn’t you rather expose traitors in the military than worry about how they’re exposed?”

Ax gave Marco a shrewd look. ‹Do the ends always justify the means, Marco?› 

Marco frowned, thinking of the space in him that had echoed like a rock dropped into a well when he saw Ax and Noorlin interact. “You know I usually think so.”

‹Let’s talk more when we get home. I need to find my father.› Ax ran toward the forest.

Marco kicked at one of the pink lily pads on his way back to the shuttle. “At least someone can.”


	18. Chapter 18

AXIMILI

When Aximili located his father, he showed Tobias the location of his scoop, assuming his _shorm_ would rather fly there on his own. He thought it likely that Tobias would need space to process everything and establish his new territory. Time was a privilege that Aximili and Tobias could never have before. Aximili had never been able to give Tobias the time he needed without fear of their impending deaths or Tobias’ withdrawal. Like many recent developments, it was a change he would have to get used to. 

Aximili returned to the shuttle where Marco was waiting. Marco was looking down at his datapad, his eyes unfocused. He didn’t look up when Aximili joined him, but he did attempt to surreptitiously examine Aximili when he crossed over to the control console. Of course, Aximili was still watching him with a stalk eye.

Marco, probably more than any human, was sensitive to Andalite physical cues. Aximili attempted to relax his shoulders and tail. ‹I am not actually upset with you.›

“Good, because I’m reading classified documents right now,” Marco said defiantly. 

Aximili sighed. ‹As always, I know I can’t control what you do. But please try not to incriminate me. If you’re going to work with my mother, I don’t want to know what you do either.›

“I’m not working for Forlay,” Marco said. “I’m a free agent.”

‹You may say that now.› Aximili engaged the shuttle controls and input the coordinates for his scoop.

“Yeah? What’s her starting salary? Does she offer benefits? Stock options? The way I see it, if I’m gonna have a boss, I’m at least gonna get paid.” Marco came to stand at Aximili’s side and peered over his shoulder as they lifted off. Aximili studied Marco’s face, trying to tell if he actually was appreciating the landscape. Marco noticed his stare and schooled his face into almost-Andalite disdain. “Can I drive?”

‹I have been depressed,› Aximili admitted, ‹but I don’t want to die.›

Marco snorted dismissively. He leaned forward over the control panel for a better view. Aximili could tell even Marco appreciated the superior beauty of his home region.

‹You like it,› Aximili accused, smiling.

Marco looked up at Aximili like he’d challenged him to a tail fight. He shrugged. “I mean, it’s nicer than the Valley, but jury’s still out on whether there’s anything to do.” 

There was no prize, but Aximili still felt like he’d won.

The shuttle came to a gentle landing next to Aximili’s scoop. He expected his garden to be overgrown and untidy, but it was clear his mother had tended it while he was away. The thought of her coming to his home to care for his plants while he had been presumed dead stirred some mixture of guilt, grief, and rare affection in him.

Marco quirked an eyebrow, presumably noticing the surge of emotion. Marco wasn’t as in control of their empathic bond as Aximili. He spent most of the time instinctually blocking it, but he also had a tendency to accidentally drop his guard. “What is it?”

‹Nothing. Would you like to…› Aximili hesitated. He wanted to make it real by saying something like “see where we’re going to live” but being confronted with commitment had historically caused Marco to pull away. ‹Bring your bags inside?› 

His scoop was just as Aximili had left it, as if no time had passed. As if he hadn’t been held hostage in his own body in a remote sector for nearly a whole season. The part of him that wished he could live in that fantasy was contradicted by the sixty-three remaining rituals of solace he still needed to send to the surviving families of his crew. 

Marco morphed gorilla to carry all six bags inside in one trip. Aximili pushed away his annoyance that Marco had brought more than Aximili owned in total. Marco’s gorilla eyes settled slowly from Aximili’s television to his couch. Aximili had imported many comforts from Earth and had continued his old hobby of improving Earth technology for his own use. ‹Where do you want me to put my bags?› Marco’s thought-speak sounded distant. 

Aximili beckoned Marco into his personal quarters, which he’d fashioned into an approximation of a bedroom. He kept the bed hidden in the wall when it wasn’t in use, but he commanded it to slide out so that Marco could see. Marco, having demorphed after setting down his bags, pressed his hands down into the bed. He shook his head, disbelieving. “What do other Andalites even think of you?”

‹I have never brought anyone but family to my scoop,› Aximili said. ‹But other Andalites think I am odd.›

Marco climbed into the bed. He flopped down on his stomach and buried his face in his arms. Aximili gave him a moment before he asked, ‹Are you alright?› He was tempted to unblock their empathic connection, assuming that Marco would be unforthcoming as usual. Even so, he had very little desire to deal with Marco’s often overwhelming emotions on top of his own.

Marco turned his head to talk but hid his face in the crook of his elbow. “Did you really do all of this for me?”

Aximili drew himself up in feigned offense. ‹It isn’t for you. I did want you to join me, but my scoop is this way because I got homesick when I was away from Earth. It is for me.›

“And you spent all that time missing your home when you were on Earth,” Marco pointed out.

‹The irony is not lost on me.›

Marco showed his face, attempting a strained half-smile. “We ruined you.”

Aximili shrugged. ‹You met my parents; I had no hope of turning out respectable.› Marco wormed his way up to the top of the bed and pulled a pillow into his chest, turning away from Aximili. Aximili leaned forward. ‹Do you think you’ll be able to survive here?› He phrased the question as if it were facetious, but he was at least half-sincere.

“Ax, I lived with you in a literal hole in the ground with only a flea-infested Lay-Z-Boy or _you_ to sleep on. I think I’ll manage in your swanky xeno palace,” Marco muttered. He curled up and yawned. “I’m suddenly exhausted.” 

‹It is time for your first sleep of the day,› Aximili confirmed, relieved that Marco’s mixed reaction was in part due to fatigue.

Marco made a soft sound in his throat. “Wish I could hang out more.” His eyes were already closed.

‹We will have time.›

Aximili left the scoop so Marco could sleep undisturbed. As soon as he stepped outside, he could breathe again. Fresh air spread through him like warmth into cold fingers. Although he was more comfortable indoors than most Andalites, Aximili’s imprisonment had sharpened his natural claustrophobia. The blade of anxiety edged deeper into his spine the longer he remained enclosed. Like most humans, Marco preferred to be inside. They may have annoyed Marco, but his frequent naps were a necessary break for Aximili.

Aximili ran toward the forest in opposite direction of his parents’ scoop. Above him, he noticed an alien silhouette gliding against the crimson sky. ‹Tobias.›

‹Hey, Ax-man.›

Aximili hadn’t expected Tobias to process things so quickly. He hoped that meant the conversation with his father had gone well. ‹Can we run?›

Tobias landed in front of Aximili and began to morph, blue fur peeking from between his feathers. Tobias tilted his head, his penetrating stare changing from amber to emerald like shifting light. 

‹You okay?› Tobias asked. Ever sensitive, Tobias was most concerned for Aximili, even though Tobias was also having a tumultuous experience. It was touching.

‹As usual, I am just restless,› Aximili said. ‹But I’m more at ease now that I’m home. Did you see my mother?›

The deep unease of seeing his younger clone gripped Aximili as Tobias finished his Andalite morph. They had done this nearly every time Marco had slept, and every time Aximili had to fight down the same discomfort. 

‹Your dad, uh, Noorlin, I guess -- he told me to come back when they’re not having an emergency.› Tobias’ stalk eyes scanned their surroundings, flitting around more birdlike than Andalite.

‹My father is wise,› Aximili said. ‹He doesn’t want her to scare you.› 

Aximili touched his blade to Tobias’, signalling that he wanted to begin running. The surge of pleasurable hormones and instinctive clarity washed over Aximili like standing under a warm waterfall. The discomfort of Tobias’ borrowed body was eclipsed entirely by his unquestioning willingness to share homeworld with Aximili. Tobias, more than anyone in the galaxy, knew what it was like to be suspended between worlds. 

Aximili leapt over a small stream, dodging through rings of glowing fungi, hopping between them from hoof to hoof. He watched Tobias with mild amusement as he struggled to perform the same maneuvers with the same hooves. He had to swing his tail for balance in an awkward, unbecoming way. 

‹What did you talk about with my father?› Aximili asked delicately, slowing his pace so Tobias could match him. 

Tobias waited until their path was clear before he answered. ‹Earth. My mom. Elfangor. I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel. Kinda guilty?›

‹I believe I understand,› Aximili said. He didn’t need to elaborate. Tobias understood that Aximili had been the only one left of two crews of veteran warriors. Aximili understood that Tobias didn’t know how to be the only thing left of Elfangor. They had both survived Elfangor, but neither knew how to fill the vacant space he’d left. At least the two of them together had a better chance.

They ran. The forest grew thicker, as did the silence that fell between them. They weaved between long vines and large hanging fronds, mist swirling around their hooves. 

‹I hope my father didn’t make you feel awkward. He is sometimes more open with his feelings than other Andalites.›

‹Not really. But, uh, did you tell him about my human morph?›

‹I told my parents how you regained your ability to morph, and that you were manipulated by the Ellimist. It seemed relevant, since he also manipulated Elfangor. Why?›

They stopped when the forest opened into a clearing. Tobias looked around, so awestruck he forgot to answer. The stream they had followed flowed around the perimeter, making the clearing perfect for morning and evening rituals. A heavy layer of fog blanketed the ground, tiny flowers twinkling through it like distant stars. Tobias’ stalk eyes tracked the swift movements of hoopa in the canopy. 

‹Are you thinking of making this your territory?› Aximili asked.

‹Huh? Yeah, maybe. I have to scout it out to make sure I’m the only predator, but it seems kind of ideal.›

‹I agree,› Aximili said. ‹I have always been fond of this place.›

‹Your dad asked about my ‘true form,’› Tobias said, finally answering Aximili’s earlier question. ‹I told him that I’m a hawk.›

‹I see,› Aximili said. This wasn’t the first time Aximili had considered Tobias’ human morph; he just hadn’t known how to broach the subject. ‹You know that we have a simple procedure that can age your human morph appropriately?›

Tobias’ eyes narrowed. ‹Honestly, I hadn’t even considered that my human morph is still a kid.›

‹That isn’t why you haven’t morphed human?›

Tobias shook his head; Aximili had a strange out-of-body moment, seeing the human gesture. He usually tried not to think of how other Andalites must perceive his Earth quirks, but that was difficult when he was standing right in front of himself.

Aximili studied Tobias. Although Tobias was difficult to read in any form, especially Andalite, Aximili could feel the tension like static electricity. He hadn’t considered, but now he realized how likely it was that when Tobias said goodbye to Rachel, he had said goodbye to humanity altogether. It was possible Tobias hadn’t been human since. 

Aximili realized he could feel his hearts racing. So far, Aximili had avoided the subject of Rachel like an unspoken interdict. He was painfully aware of the three years Tobias had spent in isolation mourning her. He couldn’t risk driving Tobias away again; he needed his _shorm_. 

Aximili thought that their conversation had come to an abrupt and awkward end. He moved to a patch of grass where sunlight pierced through the canopy, the sharp rays scattered and softened by the glowing fog. 

‹Your dad,› Tobias started again, his thought-speech halting. ‹He asked if I’d ever thought about morphing Andalite.›

Aximili perked his ears and turned back toward Tobias. ‹Did you tell him that we do this?›

‹No,› Tobias said. ‹It seemed like something that should stay between us.›

Aximili breathed out a sigh. ‹Yes. Using another Andalite’s DNA without a sufficiently diverse DNA set to _Frolis_ is, as humans say, frowned upon.›

‹Ax, do you always say ‘frowned upon’ when you mean ‘illegal’?› Tobias said flatly.

Aximili treated the question as rhetorical. Casually, he walked to the stream and took a drink. ‹I suspect my father wants to perform a more formal ceremony to welcome you to our family.›

‹What would that entail?›

‹Traditionally, when a child is born or their parents return to their homeland for the first time, the extended family gathers to provide guidance and support. Because a family is generally widely dispersed, births and deaths may be the only times an entire family comes together. I’m sure he intends you to acquire members of our family to create a suitable morph.›

Tobias was not adept at facial expressions in any morph, but the fur along his spine prickled with discomfort. ‹That’s… that’s way too much. Can’t I just use you and your parents?›

‹That sample set would result in your being my genetic brother. That is better than a twin, but it’s not ideal. For that matter, a legal _Frolis_ maneuver requires four willing donors.›

Tobias shuddered. ‹Do I have to?›

‹I will speak with my father. I will tell him to keep the ritual minimal,› Aximili said. ‹My mother is also not fond of large gatherings.› 

‹Okay,› Tobias said after some hesitation. ‹Can I have some time alone? This is all a lot for me.› He had already begun to shrink, his fur turning back to his natural tawny shades. 

‹Of course.›

‹But thank you.› Finishing his morph, Tobias spread his wings and flew into the trees.

Aximili scanned the sky with his stalk eyes as he ran back to his scoop. Sometimes while he ran these woods, he would search for the constellation that included Sol in the spaces between the tree covering. That impulse had lessened. Aximili’s feelings were complicated, but for once his treacherous longing for an alien home wasn’t among them.

He thought about Tobias’ relationship with his human morph. He wondered what being human meant to Tobias. He knew that the hawk was freedom and that his human life had been a cage. Aximili wondered if the hawk’s brain wasn’t also a barrier between Tobias and the depth of his pain. If, like Aximili, he was frightened of facing the darkness of human consciousness. Of course, Tobias’ human morph meant something different to him than Aximili’s.

Back inside his scoop, Aximili found Marco still asleep, having sandwiched himself between two pillows. It was still midday and Aximili wasn’t really tired -- not physically, anyway. But like Marco, he had missed the comfort of sleeping in a bed. His scoop was a tangible symbol of why Aximili had never been able to let go of his relationship with Marco. No other Andalite had lived on Earth. No one else could appreciate the things Aximili had come to love there, not like Marco. At least Marco also seemed to accept that they were stuck with each other.

Aximili had barely registered that he’d decided to morph until the human consciousness pulled him under. He felt suddenly heavy, like he was sinking. If he didn’t maintain absolute concentration on controlling the morph, he could feel the memories and anguish pressing in on him. Deeper, deeper -- the drowning feeling of being subsumed into The One.

Aximili pulled in a long, uneven breath. Let it out. 

Gently pulling the pillow out of Marco’s arms, Aximili climbed into bed next to him. Marco tensed at Aximili’s touch and jerked away in his sleep. A layer of coarse black hair swept down Marco’s arms. Aximili pressed his lips together.

‹It’s me,› Aximili said.

Marco wrenched his eyes open. He gasped, then grinned, and Aximili could see his oversized gorilla canines shrink back to normal human teeth. Marco buried his face into Aximili’s neck, pushing his nose into the divot of Aximili’s collarbone. Marco inhaled deeply, and Aximili shivered alongside the wave of goosebumps. The chill was followed by tingling warmth which spread out from that spot like ripples in a pond. Cool fingertips slid under Aximili’s shirt then traced along the waistband of his shorts.

Aximili caught Marco’s wrists. ‹Not yet.›

Marco’s expression went suddenly and inexplicably blank before it settled into a groggy smile. He pulled his hands out of Aximili’s loose grip and moved them up to Aximili’s face. Human faces were less sensitive than Andalite faces and their bodies lacked the usual hormonal responses to face touching. Even so, Aximili’s human morph responded with an increase in temperature and heart rate.

Aximili shifted close enough for their chests to touch and pressed his lips to Marco’s. He felt the cool rush of Marco drawing a long breath in through his nose. Marco linked his ankle around Aximili’s, pulling Aximili’s thigh up into the heat between his legs.

“It’s nice to see you,” Marco said into his mouth.


	19. Chapter 19

MARCO

Marco waved a ketchup-covered fry at Ax, jabbing to punctuate each word. “I don’t want to go to your family reunion. It’s for Bird-Boy. I’ll be fine.”

Ax snatched the fry from Marco and put it up to Marco’s mouth. Marco raised an eyebrow at him but took the fry, wrinkling his nose to suppress a smile while he chewed. ‹It’s hardly a family reunion,› Aximili said. ‹Only Elfangor’s _shorm_ will be joining us.›

“It still has nothing to do with me and I have negative desire to intrude on Tobias’ special day.”

‹Are you sure you won’t be bored? I don’t know how long it will take.›

Marco clutched at his chest. “Oh, whatever shall I do without you here to amuse me?” He pitched his voice like he was auditioning for A Serious Drama. It was the same voice he used to imitate Andalites. “If only _someone_ had negotiated long-range satellite broadcasting with DirecTV for the good of all Andalites and certainly not just for himself! Oh no! The remote, it’s out of my reach!” He mimed stretching for the remote control, then fell limp halfway off the couch. 

‹Are you finished?›

Marco sat back up on the couch and took a sip of his soda. He waved his other hand dismissively. “Seriously. You super-sized this combo; I’m good for another couple of days. Go.”

Marco ate a few more fries after Ax left. He put everything back in the bag, rolled it up, and put it aside. Food had been one of the more annoying aspects of living on an alien planet so far. Ax’s scoop probably had more comforts of home than any place on Andalite, but he didn’t even have a fridge. Ax, presumably tired of daily McDonald’s runs, had been insinuating Marco would have to start eating salads made with native greens. Marco could put up with a lot of things from Ax, but he drew the line at foraged salads.

Marco kicked back on the couch and flipped through the programming guide on Ax’s TV. It was straight up just a regular Earth TV, not unlike the plasma screens Marco had in all three of his places back on Earth. Ax said he preferred the “authentic Earth experience” and that Andalite holo screens had weird aspect ratios and frame rates. It was the authentic Earth experience all right -- three hundred channels and nothing was on.

Marco turned the TV off and woke his datapad. He ran the encryption sequence and connected to the proxy server Noorlin had set up. Noorlin had tried not to seem too impressed that Marco was able to use computers, but Marco still got that “this dog is very well-trained” feeling from him. Noorlin’s reaction had reminded Marco of one of his and Ax’s first missions together, when he’d used a Yeerk computer and Ax acted like Marco had just performed brain surgery. Ax hadn’t been that impressed when Cassie had _actually_ performed brain surgery. In retrospect, maybe Marco could have picked up on Ax’s crush sooner.

Marco checked his messages. Still no word from Menderash, which meant either Z-space had folded or something and drawn out their trip or Menderash had been discovered as a stowaway and executed. Whichever it was, the radio silence didn’t help slake Marco’s boredom. He’d already combed over every classified report Menderash had left him. He’d even compiled his findings to send to Menderash when he got to Earth. It was color-coded. There were graphs. Marco had so much time to kill since Ax had resumed his space jobs.

Marco turned the TV back on and switched it to CNN. He’d been keeping an eye on Earth news, since Jake’s arrival back on Earth after a classified eight month mission surely merited at least a mention on the ticker. Even if the mission was deemed sensitive, the paparazzi would find him eventually. They always did.

Jake had disappeared for two months after he moved out of his parents’ house. The headlines had gone nuts. _Jake Berenson: Is he in rehab? -- Where’s Jake: a new threat on the horizon? -- Berenson Disappearance Another Government Cover-up?_ Marco had to run interference, but of course he couldn’t just say, “You know how it is after you win a war at the cost of your brother and cousin-slash-fellow-soldier’s lives. When you get called a war criminal in front of the international press and you pretty much believe it. That old feeling, you know. The one where getting out of bed feels like going into battle but there’s no fight left to fight and you don’t know what you’re living for anymore. The feeling where you got so used to the idea that you could die any moment that now you’re pretty sure you’re already dead?” Instead Marco’d said, “He’s working with the DIA on a top secret anti-terrorism initiative, and I can’t say anything more about it.” Marco didn’t know if it was a coincidence that Jake had ended up doing just that or if he’d given someone in the DIA the idea.

Marco put his legs over the top of the couch and dangled his head upside down. Nothing on CNN that he cared about, no reruns of his own show, no spy shit left to do. The Andalite internet didn’t even have porn. Marco wasn’t about to crash the Sirinial-Esgarrouth-whatever else family reunion and give Ax the satisfaction of knowing he couldn’t keep himself occupied. Oh no. Marco had a plan.

Marco flopped sideways off the couch. He changed into a pair of leggings and a blue morphing tee. He’d fit right in. Nothing strange at all about an alien walking the streets by himself. Don’t worry, citizens, he’s wearing blue. He’s one of you.

Marco contemplated morphing osprey -- _falling, struggling, broken, paralyzed_ \-- but decided it was better exercise to just walk into town. It wasn’t like he didn’t have time to kill. Ax’s scoop was only about “one of your miles” from the city. Marco never considered himself much of a walking with nature kind of guy, but even he couldn’t deny that this part of Andalite was totally majestic. It was warm but not SoCal warm; it was humid but not Florida humid. Ax had been more smug than usual for days because Marco couldn’t hide that he actually liked it.

Ax had taken Marco on a Cinnabon run a couple days earlier. He’d been in fly morph, so it had been hard to appreciate completely. Theyfla was larger, but Marco felt like he’d seen everything after one flyover. Naraya, on the other hand, felt like Ax had barely scratched the surface with his quick tour. There were nine small islands connected to each other via a web of at least twenty bridges. Each island was a different district of the city; each bridge was a unique work of art. That’s how Ax had described it, but Marco knew he’d need to spend more time with the city to get a feel for it. And Marco had always done his best reconnaissance alone.

The fog around Naraya was even thicker than it was inland. The haze rested on the surface of the ocean like a blanket being pulled over the island city. It shifted as if it were alive, like the city itself was breathing. Glowing vines snaked along every path, illuminating the vapor, making it more opaque, and making the dozens of unlit bridges feel like their own invisible obstacle course. Most of the bridges were made of whatever clear, glass-like material Andalites seemed to favor. In the fog, they looked like filigree ghosts. 

Perhaps because it was built on a series of islands in the river delta, the density of buildings was a lot higher here. It didn’t have the sprawl that Marco had come to expect of Andalite urban comfort. As he walked through the grassy streets of each island and took in the distinct character of the the floral district, the business district, and the two recreational districts, Marco realized that he was feeling more at ease. Marco had been living in a world where aliens were real since he was thirteen; Naraya was still undeniably alien, but this was the first time alien culture felt familiar.

Compared to the eery silence of the rest of the planet, Naraya seemed loud. Andalites didn’t have cars or construction equipment that Marco could see, so the noise was nothing compared to Earth cities, but after spending a month on a planet where even nature played the quiet game, the normal sounds of people going about their lives were simultaneously reassuring and overstimulating. It didn’t help that dozens of Andalites were communicating in open thought-speak. As he moved through the city, Marco caught snatches of conversations as he passed in and out of range. It was worse than overhearing a whisper you could barely make out. Los Angeles had noise pollution. Naraya had thought pollution. 

Marco was the only one-hundred percent human on Andalite, but he wasn’t the only “human” in Naraya. After he’d crossed a couple bridges and gotten deeper into the city, morphed-human Andalites toddled around like thrift shop clowns who had never heard the phrase “indoor voices.” Marco only stood out because he looked comparatively tasteful, even in his dumb morphing outfit. Naraya was a _Twilight Zone_ where Marco was the most inconspicuous and low-key person in a crowd. 

The recreational districts were especially geared for enjoying human morphs. It was like a theme park where the theme was a foreign culture filtered through a Hollywood lens of misinterpretation. The “foreign culture” in this case was human. The most distinct feature on the first rec island was the surreal but familiar golden arches of a gossamer, futuristic McDonald’s sign. Even the McDonald’s was more like an open-air cafe, to better cater to claustrophobic Andalites. Of course, there was also the Cinnabon, which was basically a kiosk with seating in the front.

Beyond those expected features, there was an area that looked like a kids playground interpreted through the 1950s vision of what the year 2000 would look like. There were swing sets, merry-go-rounds, and a jungle gym, and they all had that swoopy, shiny Apple Store vibe. The thick fog stirred up around the playing people, who were all gorgeous, bizarrely-dressed adults. The whole scene was very David Lynch.

Marco sat at a table in front of a cafe that looked like it was run by Judy Jetson going through a hippie tree-hugger phase. Seven “humans” of various levels of competency at dressing themselves were in various stages of enjoying small, fancy cakes in the small cafe’s outdoor seating area. It was like being in a holodeck simulation or a zoo habitat designed for people. 

Even though the Andalites he observed were eating eagerly and clearly enjoying their morphs, none of them seemed to enjoy it in quite the same way as Ax had when they were younger. None of them were playing with mouth sounds openly or eating their plates or stealing other people’s food. Instead they all seemed to be _oh so terribly amused_ at their imitation of humanity, like they were putting on a very dry play. Marco fought the urge to show them they could really improve the bit by putting their pinkies out.

‹Welcome to The Best Diner in New Jersey. Can I recommend our butterscotch-soaked spice cake?› 

Marco furrowed his brow. The feeling he was in the holodeck intensified. He looked up at the Andalite who spoke to him. He was dumbstruck on two fronts -- first, because of what she said and second, because she was gorgeous. “Uh, ‘ _The Best Diner in New Jersey_ ’?” he repeated.

‹The name of our establishment references an Earth cultural touchstone,› she explained.

“Right.” Marco squinted up at the server and quirked an eyebrow. “No thanks on the cake. But can I ask you for kind of a weird favor?”

As far as Marco was concerned, he had at least five super powers: morphing (obviously), but also his inhuman charisma, his sense of humor, and his brilliant tactical mind. His final superpower was more esoteric and specific but had served him pretty well over the years: Marco had an undeniable eye for hot aliens. After all, it takes a thief to catch a thief.

And that was exactly the purpose of this operation.

Marco tilted his head toward the attractive server, a gesture that Andalites did when attempting to be appealing. “I get that aliens are hard to tell apart,” Marco said with fake humility, “but I wonder if you’ve heard of me? Marco the Animorph?”

Her stalk eyes froze, and she dropped her tail to a frankly reverent level. ‹Spring syzygy,› she said like an oath. ‹I saw on the network that the Animorphs were in Theyfla, but I thought you had left.›

“How could we leave Andalite without visiting Naraya?” Marco said, dialing up the charm to eleven.

Ax talked like Theyfla and Naraya had East Coast/West Coast rivalry. Marco had done both _SNL_ and Leno; he knew how to play both sides. But even though Marco had his Manhattan apartment, he’d always be SoCal at heart. He felt his fake smile deepen into something more genuine when he realized Ax was the same. 

“There are three cities on Andalite, right? Well, I’ve been to two-thirds of them and I’m positive this is the best one.” Marco didn’t even have to lie much, eighty percent because Theyfla was boring and probably full of military traitors who wanted to murder his boyfriend.

Maybe he’d laid it on a bit thick because the lovely female Andalite was giving him a look like he was back in high school and had just asked a girl who was way out of his league to prom. Well, Marco had never been to prom and no one was out of his league anymore. She looked skeptical, but she eventually smiled.

‹What can I do for you?› she said finally.

Biting back a triumphant grin because he knew teeth disturbed Andalites when they weren’t used to them, Marco tipped his head back. His throat was slightly exposed which was Andalite body language for _I’m so open and honest, I’d let you put your blade to my neck. Trust me because I trust you_. 

“So,” he started gently, “I’m not gonna be on your planet much longer, and I feel like the only way to _really experience_ how beautiful -- I mean, really, it’s overwhelming -- the only way I’m really gonna get it is if I get an Andalite morph.”

Their more upright, solid postures were the easiest way to spot Andalite warriors. They were trained to look strong and intimidating, their prey instincts traded for soldiers’ resolve. Even though he was a prince, Ax had never quite achieved that rigidity. His mother had. Civilian Andalites flowed like water, constantly making subtle movements that were simultaneously graceful and vigilant. Marco’s request froze the Andalite like a deer in headlights. Her ears perked and her sea green eyes widened. Marco was going to violate every taboo in their culture before he was through with it.

“I promise I’m going like… _Frolis_ the DNA or whatever, and I won’t use the morph for anything bad.” That really depended on one’s definition of bad, but she didn’t need to know that. “I just want to, you know, experience this planet the way it’s meant to be. Do you know humans are partly colorblind?” _Do you know there are children starving in Africa? Kittens getting put to sleep in animal shelters? They still haven’t pulled the plug on_ E.R. _?_ That was Marco’s tone.

The female Andalite swept her stalk eyes around the perimeter, then gave Marco a conspiratorial smile. A flutter swept up from the bottom of his stomach. Furtive glances made almost anyone hotter, and she was already up there. She offered her hand to him; he took it as if to give her a handshake. 

She tensed, the touch awkwardly intimate in her culture, then he felt her hand go limp in his as she went into the acquiring trance. Apart from the use of Andalite DNA being restricted, Marco inferred that they would also have a strong aversion to the forced vulnerability that came with the whole acquiring process. Marco understood. He still got chills thinking about when David acquired him against his will. 

Pushing away the unwelcome memory, Marco let her hand go. She shook off the daze after a few seconds and gave Marco a shrewd look. ‹If anyone asks me about this, I will deny it.›

“Perfect,” Marco said. She kept a stalk eye on him and continued on to the next table. 

Deciding he was better off not lingering and not spotting anyone else above a seven, Marco made his way over the bridge to the next district. Besides attractive DNA specimens, he also needed people who could be easily isolated and seemed up for breaking some laws. He’d gotten lucky with the server at The Best Diner in New Jersey, but this mission warranted a more tactical approach.

He laid out the city in his head -- nine islands, each with their own specialty. He’d come in through the garden district. Those Andalites were mostly stout, hardworking Cassie-types. Fours, at best. The next island he’d gone through had looked like it might be a political hub; the Andalites there were older, serious-looking, most of them barely edging out a six. The next two islands had been the recreation zones and were hard to peg down, since the Andalites there were mostly in human morph. Those human morphs averaged an eight, but that was kind of beside the point (although it gave Marco high hopes for his potential outcome). Almost none of them were playing human alone, anyway. As he walked, he drew a map of the area in his head and made a note of the average hotness metric for each island.

Finally, he came to the place he was looking for. The arts district. There was no Andalite Hollywood, so he’d have to settle for Andalite Brooklyn. It met every requirement Marco had hoped for: there were lots of little nooks and crannies in the open air gallery spaces, lots of the people there seemed to be doing their own thing, and the average hotness metric was a solid nine. Now he just had to hope that, like their human counterparts, Andalite artists didn’t care for the status quo.

Careful to maintain a casual air, Marco followed a winding path into what was essentially the shortest hedge maze he’d ever seen. The hedges were dark blue, about two feet tall, and around each gentle curve, a part of the plant had been allowed to grow a bit taller to hold a piece of artwork. 

Marco stopped in front of the first piece and examined it, screwing his face up into a bemused expression. The subject appeared to be a straightforward rendering of a spiraling vine in crisp hyperrealistic detail. If it was supposed to mean something beyond “this is a plant,” Marco didn’t get it. Marco didn’t get _human_ art, so obviously Andalite art was beyond him.

Marco stepped back from the painting to allow a female Andalite to examine the piece and move on. He didn’t want his morph to be too feminine and wanted to err on the side of more dudes. Ax had been able to choose the physical sex of his morph, but Marco didn’t trust himself to know what he was doing. He wouldn’t appreciate the dramatic irony of his Andalite morph having the wrong physical sex characteristics. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt and the cool chest scars to prove it.

The next Andalite who stopped in front of him was male, and he may have been the single hottest alien Marco had ever seen. His fur seemed almost translucent, like each strand was spun from sapphire. The line of his spine had the grace and danger of a snake. Too bad Marco was already spoken for and too bad interspecies relationships were forbidden, because _woof_. If Marco was basically a dog to them, he’d let this Andalite make him beg any day.

“Excuse me,” Marco said to get Sapphire’s attention. The Andalite regarded him with stalk eyes only, continuing to look the painting of the vine up and down. “You seem to be a discerning gentleman. I was wondering if you could explain some of this art to me? It’s a little over my simple human head.”

Sapphire turned to look at Marco with his main eyes. They held the sort of disdain Marco didn’t expect as much from Andalite civilians. Apparently, hot people were the same across the galaxy. ‹You’re actually human?› 

Marco licked his lips. “Yeah,” he said, tilting his head again, hoping he looked appealing for an alien. “I’m Marco the Animorph.”

Sapphire didn’t have the same reaction as the server at The Best Diner in New Jersey, but his ears did perk like he was intrigued. He raised his tail a bit higher and Marco noted the length of his blade, its fine edge, its dramatic curve. Marco brushed a lock of hair behind his ear, simultaneously feeling how hot his face was. Good thing most Andalites wouldn’t know what to make of a flushing human.

Sapphire waved his hand toward the painting with flair even Marco thought was a bit extravagant. ‹This is a _freelah_ vine.›

Marco nodded, trying to keep his expression away from his sardonic impulse. “I see. Very… representational.”

‹It is,› Sapphire continued in a haughty tone. ‹The composition of the piece is a visual representation of a logarithmic curve of the precise pitch of our home galaxy. The _freelah_ flowers represent relative locations of star systems known to contain significant sapient species.›

“Oh,” Marco muttered. Of course Andalite art was also math. Of course. He squinted at the painting, hoping that he looked like the explanation had made it something more than a literal hand-drawn macro photo of a bunch of leaves. “Where’s the human homeworld?”

The Andalite studied a specific area of the painting. ‹Humans are not represented.›

Marco pursed his lips and tried not to speculate whether the artist thought humans were insignificant or not sapient. After all, it didn’t change the fact that Marco wanted this Andalite’s body. In a very literal sense. “Will you show me more? Your explanation really helped me understand your people better.”

Marco had a lot of experience working people. People who thought he was stupid were easy. People who thought they were important? Even easier. Both? Marco’d have this guy eating out of his hand.

With his hoof. Or something.

His ego adeptly stroked, Sapphire led Marco deeper into the world’s least challenging hedge maze. They stopped in front of every painting and the Andalite explained the subjects to Marco as if he were a very small child or a very smart pet. Well-trained as always, Marco was careful to respond to this guy the way he would any dude who thought they were _so smart_ and _so hot_. Marco’s “I’m hanging on your every word, but I’m actually not listening at all” face was almost as practiced as his “I’m getting choked up talking about this” press face or his “I am a well-adjusted, functioning person” friends and family face.

The winding path through the short hedges led back out to the main thoroughfare. Before they got to that point, Marco pretended to be fascinated by two intricately-rendered planets connected by glowy wavy lines.

‹And this one is a simple visualization of quantum entanglement, represented by a tidally-locked binary system.›

“Fascinating,” Marco said. He leaned toward the Andalite, penetrating their customary limits of personal space. Sapphire didn’t move away. In a low voice, Marco said, “Listen, I’ve learned so much about Andalite art from you. Can I ask one more favor of you?”

‹You may,› he said, continuing to respond to Marco’s cat-and-mouse game just as Marco wanted.

Marco held out his hand, low enough that it was obscured by the waist-high hedges. “I know that the only way I’m going to even come close to understanding Andalites is to become one.”

The Andalite recoiled, his handsome face twisting into a subtle but cutting expression of disgust. ‹You want to morph me?›

“No, but it would mean a lot if your DNA were a part of my Andalite morph…” Marco trailed off in a soft way that for humans was leading and for Andalites was supplicating.

For the first time, Sapphire looked dubious and Marco started to think his plan had failed. But after about a minute’s hesitation -- one of Marco’s minutes -- the Andalite touched his fingertips to Marco’s palm. Marco couldn’t control the grin that broke out on his face as Sapphire’s stalk eyes drooped.

And so it went, until Marco had acquired eight more of the finest Andalite DNA specimens the planet’s cultural hub had to offer. He’d been able to push and pull each one so that none of them refused him or seemed like they’d narc.

He crossed the bridges back to the mainland, leaving the glowing islands behind. Walking vaguely homeward, he wondered how long it had been and if Ax was done yet. That Andalite sense of orientation to time and place would probably be helpful.

There was only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my usual beta [LilacSolanum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum), for everything. Special thanks to [Purrs](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Purrs/pseuds/Purrs) this time! Thanks also to everyone who leaves comments and kudos, you are more lovely than Visser Three is villainous.


	20. Chapter 20

AXIMILI

Aximili grew thoughtful on his way to his parents’. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t left Marco alone before. He went out everyday to perform his rituals, to feed, to check that Tobias was getting along with his father, and to retrieve food for Marco. Possibly he worried that Marco didn’t feel welcome among his family. But Marco wasn’t wrong -- the gathering and whatever rituals took place were for Tobias. Aximili wasn’t sure Tobias would be comfortable with Marco there. He wasn’t sure Tobias would be comfortable at all. 

Aximili had been pleasantly surprised the first time he’d found Tobias with his father of his own volition. Every time he had gone to his parents’ in the preceding few days, he found Tobias there. Tobias seemed to be getting along well with at least Aximili’s father. But introducing Tobias to new people was always a stressful affair, chiefly for Tobias himself. 

Aximili had only met Elfangor’s _shorm_ Elairin twice when he was a child. He couldn’t predict how she would react to Tobias. She wouldn’t be surprised -- Elfangor’s half-human _nothlit_ son was common knowledge. Aximili’s mother had gotten ahead of the controversy and published Elfangor’s (heavily redacted) _hirac delest_ herself. She wanted to be in control of his narrative. As she predicted, Tobias had only added intrigue to what was becoming Elfangor’s legend.

Aximili wondered if his perception of having escaped Elfangor’s shadow was merely an illusion, if his own life was just another chapter in the story of Elfangor. Nothing was more important, more romantic, more celebrated than a war hero who was conveniently dead. 

Aximili spotted his mother, in deep concentration, trimming a tree on the edge of his parents’ territory. His earliest memories of her were of her delicate blade performing precision cuts. Leaves fell for hours while she conceptualized poetry. She projected visions of nature paired with feelings Aximili could never have conceived on his own. Mertil had once asked Aximili if he had read his mother’s work. He hadn’t. But he felt it in its conception. He felt it change over time. Her work became sharper, swifter, more forceful, like two blades clashing together. It built from a lament to a wail, a scream that freedom was merely a memory.

Aximili had stopped watching his mother write.

‹Hello, Mother,› Aximili said, standing at her shoulder and peering at the branch in her hands. Each leaf and bud was its own discrete decision, each minute change a change to the larger picture. As usual, approaching his mother during her gardening felt like entering a storm front. 

‹Hello, Aximili.› She rolled the new growth between her fingers, testing its elasticity, deciding if it was fit to live.

‹Is Tobias with Father?›

‹They were here earlier,› she said, distracted. ‹I believe Tobias convinced Noorlin to fly with him to mitigate his anxiety.›

‹Father, fly? He hates flying.› His distaste for heights was a primary factor in Aximili’s father never having joined the military. Considering his mother would never have chosen a non-civilian for her mate, Aximili technically owed his life to his father’s fear of heights. 

Aximili’s mother trimmed the branch and put it in the satchel at her waist. ‹Noorlin allowed Elfangor to take him on an aerial stunt run when he completed his pilot’s training.› She paused, her expression wry. ‹It seems that at least that aspect of your father’s nature isn’t dominant.›

Aximili shifted his hooves. His mother had always said he was soft, like his father. He had known she was being critical even then, but he considered it a mark of pride. He didn’t want to be like her.

‹Are you prepared to see Elairin?› Aximili asked.

It was rare that Aximili noticed that his mother was smaller than him now. Her comportment made her feel larger. But in this moment, she looked exposed, delicate.

‹She is an unwelcome reminder of your brother,› his mother said bitterly. ‹But with Tobias here, it is hardly possible to put aside the thought of Elfangor.›

She glanced down at Aximili’s restless hooves, wordlessly admonishing his capriciousness. Ignoring her, Aximili said, ‹I hope you haven’t made Tobias feel like an unwelcome reminder.›

She trimmed another young branch from the tree. ‹He is a reminder. Whether he is welcome or not, I haven’t decided.›

‹Father has.›

‹Your father is eager to share his memories of Elfangor.›

‹And you?›

‹I am tired of sharing Elfangor,› she said. Her words were like a wall of ice between them. ‹I am tired of my son being reduced to a symbol that serves a cause he wanted to escape.›

‹You can’t control how the People remember him,› Aximili said bitterly. 

‹Can’t I? You are more naive than I think you are if you believe history is comprised of facts.›

Aximili shook his head and turned to walk towards the scoop. He would rather wait alone than continue this circular conversation with his mother. 

‹Aximili.› He turned back to her. ‹Are you aware of how like his father Tobias is?›

‹I have always suspected,› Aximili said. ‹When I was on Earth, being with him was the closest thing I had to a home.› The wall between them felt enormous. An attempt to bring it down would surely crush him. ‹I’m sorry that nothing will ever bring Elfangor back.›

His mother shifted her attention back to her tree. Aximili took the few steps to close the space between them. ‹May I help?›

His mother examined him shrewdly. She was a perfectionist. He knew she would rather just do it herself without having to direct Aximili’s every move and still risk him ruining her vision. 

She pointed her stalk eyes at one of the tallest branches. If Aximili messed it up, it wouldn’t be seen from the ground anyway. ‹Thin out the crown in that area.›

Aximili helped his mother with her gardening until they heard approaching hoofbeats. His father approached from the direction of the city with Elairin close behind. 

‹Prince Aximili!› Elairin enthused, clacking her blade against his gracelessly. ‹Stars, isn’t that strange, _Prince_ Aximili.› She added as an afterthought, ‹It’s good you’re not dead.›

‹I tend to agree,› Aximili said. Of course, she did not catch his subtle application of humor. He found himself wishing Marco was there so at least someone would have gotten it.

‹Forlay,› Elairin greeted his mother, locking her knees and straightening her back as if saluting a war-prince. Forlay gave her a look so acidic, it could have melted the bulkhead of a Dome ship. 

‹Are you still upset about the _illsipar_?› Elairin asked, perking her ears up insolently. Aximili’s mother didn’t respond, which made Elairin break out into a confusing smile.

Aximili turned to his father, pretending to ignore their apparent ongoing dispute. ‹Where is Tobias?›

‹He said he would meet us here.› Aximili’s father scanned their surroundings with his stalk eyes. ‹I estimated the time of our arrival accurately.›

‹Humans don’t have an innate time sense,› Aximili explained.

‹Is he human? I thought he was a bird,› Elairin said. 

Aximili leveled an incredulous look at Elairin. ‹You think Elfangor reproduced with a bird?›

‹How should I know what birds on Human are like?› Elairin said. Her tone was playful, run through with a thread of arrogance. 

‹The human planet isn’t called ‘Human.’ They call it Earth,› Aximili corrected, attempting to match his tone to hers. Had Elairin been human, he would have assumed she was joking, but Aximili had re-trained himself to expect the opposite from his own people.

‹What? Why? Most habitable planets have ground. That isn’t very specific.› 

‹That’s just what they call it.›

‹But why should we call it that?› Elairin perked her ears. ‹The convention of naming a world after its most prominent sapient species is much more logical than calling it ‘Abundant Sand’ or ‘One Large Ocean.’›

‹Humans aren’t known for our logic, honestly,› Tobias interjected. Aximili scanned the sky again but still didn’t see him. ‹I guess if we were, we’d have called Earth ‘Mostly Water.’›

‹Where are you?› Aximili asked. Tobias dropped out of one of the higher branches of the tree Aximili’s mother had been pruning. He flared his wings and landed at the base of Aximili’s tail blade. ‹Were you there the whole time?›

‹Yeah.› Tobias switched to private thought-speak. ‹I told Forlay I was nervous, and she told me to wait it out up there. Scope the situation.›

Aximili glanced at his smiling, self-satisfied mother. With a start, he turned back to Elairin, who had taken a step closer for a better look at Tobias. Since he didn’t know her, Aximili’s own impulse was to step away. He assumed she was making Tobias even more uncomfortable. Her demeanor had sobered. She tilted her head, gazing intensely at Tobias. 

‹Tobias, Elairin-Thaliel-Nath,› Aximili’s father said. ‹She was Elfangor’s _shorm_. Elairin, this is Elfangor’s son Tobias.›

‹Uh, hi?› Tobias said. 

She continued to examine him. Tobias shifted his talons and gripped Aximili’s tail more tightly. ‹Your form is interesting,› Elairin said at last. 

‹Thanks,› Tobias said, his thought-speak clipped. He rustled his wings like he was ready to fly off at any moment. 

Elairin glanced expectantly at Aximili’s father. He stepped forward, so that the four of them formed a rectangle. Aximili positioned his tail over his shoulder so that Tobias was roughly main eyes-level with his father.

‹I don’t think there is a specific ritual for this situation,› Aximili’s father said. ‹We believed Elfangor’s branch had withered. But as always, spring brings new life. We welcome a new branch of the tree. You are Elfangor’s son and Aximili’s _shorm_. You are a part of us.› 

Since he found out Tobias was Elfangor’s son, Aximili had dreamed of the day he would be accepted into his family. In the beginning, he would have believed himself foolish for thinking it could really happen. Apprehension, anticipation, grief, and nostalgia were as palpable as the fog at their feet, rippling out from each of them, mixing like currents around them, impossible to tell which feelings belonged to whom. He wondered how Tobias, who had never really known what family meant was feeling. He wondered if this sharing of sentiments could only be perceived by Andalites or if Tobias experienced it too. Either way, he was likely already overwhelmed.

Aximili’s father touched his blade to Aximili’s then held it parallel to Aximili’s tail. Tobias spread his wings for balance and stepped carefully from Aximili’s blade to his father’s. 

‹It would be deeply meaningful to me if you used my DNA,› Aximili’s father said. Technically, the verbal contract was a legal requirement to acquire another Andalite. Practically, it was done so rarely that even the thought would be abhorrent to most. Aximili wondered if his family and Elairin’s inexperience with morphing contributed to the sense of unease. There was still an undercurrent of optimism and excitement, though. 

‹I will go next,› Elairin volunteered, after the acquiring trance wore off. Aximili could tell she tried to sound confident, but her thought-speak wavered with tension.

Aximili’s father linked blades with Elairin and Tobias stepped onto her tail. Aximili hoped it wasn’t too demeaning for Tobias to be passed between them.

‹I have never been and will never be closer to anyone than I was to Elfangor,› Elairin said, suddenly solemn. ‹I had accepted I would never see him again. And I said goodbye to the Elfangor I knew long before he left on his final mission. He left a piece of himself on Earth. I hope some part of him has returned to us in you. You may acquire me.›

After the fog of being acquired cleared from her eyes, Elairin made eye contact with Aximili’s mother who glared back as if Elairin’s look were a challenge. Aximili felt a flare of anxiety. His mother had always been a vocal opponent of the widespread use of morphing. She saw it as a normalization of intelligence tactics that the civilian population shouldn’t tolerate. Surely it was no coincidence that she had not passed the required security clearance and was herself unable to morph. As such, Aximili worried she would be reluctant to allow Tobias to acquire her as a matter of principle. His mother made all her decisions as a matter of principle. 

She turned her gaze to Tobias, her eyes both like Aximili’s and unlike them in their intensity. Tobias returned her stare. Aximili was irrationally proud that Tobias was able to meet her expression with equal ferocity because his form didn’t allow for vulnerability. Sometimes Aximili felt like his mother was the same. 

Slowly, deliberately, Aximili’s mother drew her tail up even with Elairins’s. They linked their small blades together, bracing their less muscular tails against each other to stabilize them. Tobias stepped from Elairin’s tail to his mother’s. She moved him closer to her, pivoting her tail so they were eye to eye. 

His mother’s turbulent thoughts, ever-present around her like an uncomfortable aura, came into focus around them. Aximili could see, through her crystalline memory of him, Elfangor as a child at her side. Aximili had never even seen a holo of him at that age, barely as tall as their mother’s withers. He looked solemn and serious, even in his youth.

‹Since Elfangor was born, he was my shadow. I thought he would follow me anywhere.›

Her memory shifted and Elfangor grew into a young adolescent. His expression was still thoughtful, but now it was more faraway and dreamy. Their mother’s memory captured the parts of him Aximili had never seen: his sensitivity, his deep empathy, his unwavering need to prove himself. For the first time, Aximili saw a part of himself in Elfangor. 

‹I was furious with him when he was accepted to the Academy. He hadn’t told me he applied. I tried to forbid him, but he was adamant. He said he couldn’t stand by and do nothing while the Yeerks enslaved innocents and killed our people.›

The Elfangor of their mother’s memory grew up. The thought-poetry she projected sucked the energy out of Aximili, hollowing him out with sorrow and fear. He wished he could step out of the circle because the empty space she was making in him left room for his memories of The One to seep in.

‹He had a stronger sense of duty than anyone I’ve known,› their mother said finally, ‹I know this is what he would have wanted. You have my permission.›

Cold guilt trickled into Aximili’s core to replace his mother’s anguish as it ebbed away. This was the first time he’d realized how affected she had been by Elfangor’s death. Rather, it was the first time he realized that he’d assumed she wasn’t. His mother rarely talked about Elfangor. Aximili’s father did so freely, so Aximili had assumed that her laser focus on the resistance overruled any motherly feelings she may have had. 

Perhaps Aximili would never connect with his mother the way Elfangor apparently had. But the wall between them felt less vast. He still couldn’t agree with her anti-military stance, but he had been able to put that aside to befriend Menderash. Now Marco was being swept up in it, too. Soon Aximili would have no one left if he didn’t accept that right and wrong were relative. After all, Tobias was evidence that Elfangor hadn’t believed unwaveringly in his duty to his prince and the People. His mother’s methods may have been misguided and treasonous, but she believed she was serving the People and did so relentlessly. There was more than one correct way to accomplish one’s goals with honor. Aximili had struggled his whole life with absolutes. So far his judgement had led to the deaths of 110 warriors under his command. Who was he to decide what was right?

If his mother fell under the acquiring thrall, she didn’t show any outward sign. 

When it was done, she passed Tobias back to Aximili. ‹I was not informed that I would need to prepare a speech,› Aximili said.

‹You don’t have to say anything,› replied Tobias. When he spoke, Aximili could feel that he was at his limit, perhaps beyond it. Even if Aximili had been prepared to say something -- as if he could describe what Tobias was to him -- it was probably best not to for Tobias’ sake.

‹You are more than a piece of Elfangor,› Aximili said simply.

‹When I said you didn’t have to say anything, that was an actual recommendation.›

‹You may acquire me,› Aximili said. He added privately, ‹Or at least pretend to.›

They waited a moment and Aximili mimed going into a state of calm. Obviously, Tobias already had his DNA. After the appropriate length of time had passed, Tobias fluttered to the ground in the middle of the circle.

‹How do I… how do I do it?› 

Aximili looked at his father and Elairin. They were both looking at him, as if they expected him to answer Tobias’ question even though they would have acquired their human morphs from the bank of tissue samples much more recently. Perhaps it was because he had the most experience with morphing, or because he knew Tobias the best.

Aximili hated having to take the lead. He had always been reluctant to and since the _Intrepid_ , his natural inclination to defer to others was like a fist holding his tail in place. But Tobias needed him, so he explained it as it had been explained to him in school, carefully avoiding any indication the Tobias had morphed Andalite before.

Slowly, Tobias began to grow. At first, there was little difference from the dozens of times Tobias had morphed Andalite with Aximili. Instead Aximili watched the others’ reactions to the morph. No Andalites (other than possibly active intelligence operatives) were as desensitized to morphing as Aximili. As Tobias sprouted fur and his beak withered to nothingness, Aximili’s father and Elairin winced. His mother maintained her hard focus on Tobias, expression unchanging. Aximili turned his gaze back to Tobias with similar passivity. His mother may have thought Elfangor was her only son who inherited her resolve, but Aximili had seen morphing thousands more times than the other Andalites combined.

At the midway point, Tobias’ unique features started to assert themselves. He had the solid coat pattern of a firstborn, unlike Aximili’s mottled stripes and spots. He was darker blue, closer to Aximili’s mother’s deep ultraviolet than his father’s pale cyan, but with a tinge of Elairin’s teal. As the morph finished, it became clear he was slightly bulkier than Aximili. More like Aximili’s father. More like _Tobias’_ father.

His father’s expression reminded Aximili of the first time he had come home from Earth after the war. His mother remained stoic. Elairin’s expression was inscrutable. The telepathic mood had become overwhelmingly nostalgic, run through with a deep note of sadness. Tobias had created a morph with a strong resemblance to Elfangor. It was impossible to know if that was a function of the shared DNA in his sample set or if Tobias had drawn on his memory of Elfangor to create the morph. It was still far less uncomfortable than him being Aximili’s clone.

Tobias held his tail low, as if he had something to be ashamed of. Aximili’s father linked blades with him and lifted his tail to a more suitable height. Tobias shifted his hooves uncomfortably, but maintained his posture as Aximili had taught him so long ago. Aximili was proud his _shorm_ had been able to endure so much attention.

‹Is this okay?› Tobias asked. ‹Am I acceptable now?›

Aximili’s father grasped both of Tobias’ arms above the elbow. Tobias took in a sharp breath and flinched, but managed to make eye contact. ‹You are a part of our family regardless of your form. You do not have to be an Andalite to be acceptable.›

Tobias glanced toward Aximili. He didn’t perform usual Andalite facial expressions, but Aximili could feel his panic. ‹Father? I’m gratified you embrace Tobias as one of us. But I think it would be best to let him become accustomed to his morph.›

Aximili’s father released Tobias and stepped back. Tobias breathed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. Aximili noticed Elairin’s canny look between the two of them. Aximili couldn’t guess what she was thinking.

‹Uh,› Tobias said, ‹Ax has told me that running together is a social thing that he missed while he was on Earth.› 

Aximili’s father lit up. ‹A wonderful idea. Forlay, will you be able to join us?›

Aximili fully expected her to decline. She had already dedicated more time to this ritual than she would ever have when he was younger. Though he was from a family of four, which was the largest legal family configuration with two parents, Aximili had only experienced group running at the Academy. Elfangor had been in space. His mother fought a war of her own.

He tried to push away the whisper inside him from the hollow place his mother had made. It said his broken family couldn’t be repaired and that despite being his _shorm_ , Elairin could not replace Elfangor. Perhaps, though, that was the point. Perhaps his mother was right and she was there as a reminder of what his family had lost. Tobias, in this form especially, was proof of what they had gained.

‹Of course.›

Having primed himself for her to use her work as an excuse, Aximili wasn’t sure how he felt to have his expectations subverted. He knew he should be pleased she wanted to join them. On some level he was. But a more honest part, echoing up from the emptiness, resented her. Was the affection she had for Elfangor, that she had never shown Aximili, her motivation to actually try with Tobias?

He shook his head. It was dishonorable to envy Tobias. He wanted his _shorm_ to have a place in his family. If that place, in relation to his mother, was because of Elfangor, it had nothing to do with Aximili. If Tobias had the intrinsic piece of Elfangor that Aximili apparently lacked, it was further proof there was nothing Aximili could ever have done. He had to stop chasing Elfangor eventually.

Aximili’s father led them in a loose group on the path through the forest to their grazing grounds. The rush of instinctual pleasure washed away the negativity in Aximili like a knot of pollution in a river. He was used to running with one other Andalite. His daily runs with Tobias had been crucial to his rehabilitation since his rescue. It was the only way he was able to deal with the deaths of his crew and compartmentalize the piece of him that had been taken by The One. If it were possible for him to run with more Andalites, he may even eventually be able to confront that wound.

Running with so many felt lighter than flying. The mix of hormones, pheromones, and ambient telepathic joy rinsed everything away and lay bare the essence of being Andalite: optimism, confidence, and the knowledge that the sum of them was greater than they were as individuals.

The forest opened up again into a gently rolling pasture. The five of them circled the edge of the forest, running a race with no winners or losers. They ran wordlessly, the most basic ritual that any of them knew, until Tobias had to demorph and remorph so they could continue. It was his mother who broke the circuit and led them back out to their parents’ territory. She and his father returned to their scoop to assess the damages of their break. 

Aximili was nearly vibrating. The simple, intrinsic conviction that everything would be okay thrummed through him like heartbeats. He looked at Tobias, who had lived his life first as a human and then as a hawk. He hoped -- he believed -- that Tobias could make something of a life as an Andalite as well. Aximili wanted Tobias to have a chance at a life unburdened. He had left his human body, weighed down with despair. His hawk body carried the worries of a predator and the horrors of the war. Tobias had always been something new. He was not Elfangor. He could not take Elfangor’s place. But perhaps he could finally live a life Elfangor would have wanted for him.

‹Can I take you on a walk?› Elairin asked Tobias.

Tobias glanced between her and Aximili. He took a deep breath but didn’t answer. Aximili knew he would have been renewed by the run, but he also knew Tobias was well past his limit for new experiences with new people. Aximili stepped forward, putting himself between the two of them. ‹May I come as well?›

Elairin smiled knowingly. ‹Of course.›

They went back into the woods, at a more leisurely pace. Elairin stopped to appreciate each plant, nostalgia emanating out from her like heat from a fire. ‹It’s been many years since I have been back here. I moved to Gathara after I finished my studies. I’ve traveled this path many times.›

They continued walking and Elairin seemed to grow more and more thoughtful. Finally she said to Tobias, ‹You remind me of him. It is almost like going back in time, seeing you and Aximili.› Tobias didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. ‹When we were young, Elfangor was quiet. Shy. My family lived in the closest scoop to your family’s. We were born in the same spring. We were like siblings.›

She looked at Aximili. She had no way of knowing how Aximili felt about Elfangor, but he felt like she was looking through him. Seeing the dark pit of envy in the midst of the naive hero worship that had driven Aximili to the military, to Earth, to his princehood, to the deaths of his crew. He felt like she could see Aximili’s shame that he could never, ever live up to Elfangor’s name.

She continued, ‹I saw myself as his protector. I spoke for him when he couldn’t. Any other Andalite would have resented me for it, especially because I am female. Elfangor appreciated it. We were two halves of a whole. He was the daydreamer, I was the adventurer. I dragged him wherever I went. Maybe I dragged him into the Academy because I was angry I couldn’t go.›

They walked deeper into the woods until the canopy above was a dark tangle blocking out the red of the sky. They had to sidestep many hanging vines and countless bundles of flowers. The path they followed was both well-traveled and overgrown. It had been a long time since anyone had taken this route.

‹We were both… inspired by his mother. Her writings were less overtly political then, but she was still such a… such a warrior. I knew I couldn’t write poetry like Forlay. I couldn’t join the military and actually make a difference. He was able to go where I couldn’t. For once, he took me with him. He communicated with me every step of the way. I pushed him to carry on.›

She stopped and Aximili and Tobias stopped behind her. She looked at a tree and Aximili thought he saw scars of tail blade carvings, long healed. Her stalk eyes studied Tobias.

‹It wasn’t that the life of a warrior didn’t suit him. It did. He was a prodigy when he returned from his… When he returned from Earth. He never told us. We never knew. But he was different after that. He was so different.› 

Elairin led them as the woods got ever thicker. They had to push through the overgrowth, using their tails to clear the way for each other, very careful not to cut any of the plants along the way. Aximili could feel the hum of life around him, the song of the oldest plants at the heart of the forest. He knew where she was leading them.

‹After he came back from Earth, Elfangor was bolder. He was reckless. He was more determined than he ever had been when we were young. He spoke to me less. It was like he had become a different person wherever he had gone. And I understand now. He had a mate and a son and a whole alien life he could tell none of us about. But I saw it. That longing for something that we couldn’t give him. As long as he lived and as many accolades as he got as a war-prince, he never got over what the Ellimist wouldn’t let him have.›

Aximili had let his tail drop nearly to the ground while she spoke. He examined Tobias’ face. It was expressionless as usual, but Elairin’s words had affected him. He had always known that Elfangor cared for him. That he had wished he could be a part of Tobias’ life instead of adhering to his duties. But neither of them ever knew how much Earth had changed him. 

The dense forest opened up ahead of them. Aximili saw what he expected to see.

The single elderly _garibah_ stood in the center of the glade, mottled sunlight shining through its sagging foliage. _Yarleeah_ vines spiraled up its thick, knurled trunk. Any other tree would have been strangled by the creeper vines, but a _garibah_ wore them like lace adornment. Compared to the cacophony that was Earth, Andalite forests were tranquil and still. The area surrounding this tree hummed with life. It was as if the path leading to the _garibah_ had lit up to alert the tree that they were on their way. The fog felt charged with static electricity. It had been a long time since it had a visitor.

Tobias hadn’t spoken since they began their walk. Aximili had felt him drawing further inside himself as Elairin talked about Elfangor. But now, in front of this tree, Aximili felt his _shorm_ opening up again. Tobias stared with wonder at the tall, twisting tree. Its roots spiraled out in fractals along the forest floor. They were the veins of this forest, probably traversing the entirety of it. Above them, the _garibah_ ’s branches mirrored its roots, entangling with the rest of the forest like lattice. This tree was the forest’s heart.

‹This is Hala Fala,› Elairin said. She spoke reverently, like she was performing a ritual. In a way, she was.

Tobias stepped forward. ‹Is it… singing?› 

Aximili didn’t hear anything, although he did feel the psychic hum around them. He felt his hearts seize that Hala Fala responded to Tobias. It was reaching out to him.

‹Hala Fala was Elfangor’s guide tree,› Aximili explained in a whisper. ‹It is the oldest tree in this forest. It is wise. I am… not surprised that it recognizes you.›

Elairin continued to observe Tobias, and Aximili watched with a stalk eye as she linked her blade with his own. Elfangor’s _shorm_ had wanted to share this moment with Tobias. She had also wanted him to be there, as Tobias’ _shorm_. Aximili didn’t know her, but she had known Elfangor better than Aximili ever would. Aximili was thankful to her for sharing him with them.

Tobias stepped slowly toward Hala Fala, as if he were dreaming. He took careful steps between the spiraling roots. His hooves seemed to barely disturb the grass underneath. Closing the distance between himself and the _garibah_ , Tobias reached forward and grazed Hala Fala’s trunk with just the tips of his fingers. The touch was as soft as a brush of feathers.

Aximili’s guide tree had never spoken to him. That was normal; guide trees rarely communicated directly. But he had heard that Hala Fala had advised Elfangor several times. He wondered if it was speaking to Tobias now. 

Elairin touched Aximili’s arm gently. Privately, she said, ‹Let’s leave him.› 

Aximili nodded, then he realized the alien gesture was incomprehensible to Elairin and bobbed his stalk eyes in affirmation. They walked out of the clearing quietly, although Tobias was deep in concentration or communication with the tree. He was deaf to the world.

‹Thank you,› Aximili said as they made their way back through the forest.

‹Thank you for bringing him. He reminds me so much of Elfangor,› she said.

‹Mother said so as well,› Aximili said.

‹It is unfortunate that you never really got to know him.› Elairin pulled aside a curtain of flowers and vines for Aximili to pass under. ‹He had already changed before you were born.›

Aximili didn’t know what to say to that. Both his mother and Elfangor had always been busy. They had traveled more often than they were home. Elfangor had been, like his mother said, a symbol. For Aximili, he had been a symbol of honor and duty. Aximili had always held him up as their mother’s opposite. It was becoming more and more clear to him that he wasn’t her opposite at all.

They returned to the rolling plain and stopped at the edge of Aximili’s parents’ territory. Elairin turned to directly face Aximili. She took both his arms in her hands, like family. Aximili felt a warm ache. His mother rarely held him this way, but his father did it all the time. Elfangor never had.

‹I’m going to go back to Naraya before I go home. Has it changed much?›

‹It is almost a different place after we opened trade with Earth,› Aximili said.

Elairin smiled. ‹That’s Naraya, always moving forward.›

Aximili returned her smile. The Andalites from their region had a reputation for being too welcoming of change. Aximili knew this trait was actually a strength beyond measure. ‹Are you not going to say goodbye to my parents?›

Elairin let out a small, snorting laugh. ‹Please tell your father I gave my regards. Forlay will think I didn’t go soon enough.›

‹I’m sorry for my mother,› Aximili said, feeling like he was speaking his heart’s deepest song.

Elairin laughed again. ‹It was nice to see you, Prince Aximili. Tobias, as well. I hope we will not be strangers.› 

Aximili turned and walked back to his parents’ scoop. His mother was tending to another tree. Aximili looked up into its crown suspiciously, even though he knew where Tobias was. Taking a deep breath, Aximili stepped back into the storm front around her. Her emotions were even sharper now. Instead of a storm, his mother’s telepathic aura was a wildfire. 

‹Did Elairin leave?› his mother asked, regarding Aximili with a single stalk eye while she focused on her work. 

‹Yes,› Aximili said. ‹She introduced Tobias to Hala Fala.›

His mother closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them, her expression unchanged, her focus unyielding. The poetry she was weaving in the air around them was almost painful in its ferocity. There was a war inside her. Whatever she was writing now was going to release it to the public soon. 

She didn’t say anything more. Aximili turned to return to their scoop so he could say goodbye to his father.

‹Aximili.›

‹Yes, Mother?› Aximili turned back to her, but still she didn’t face him.

‹I lost both of my sons twice. Elfangor will never come back, but I’m grateful that you did.›

Aximili’s breath caught in his chest. He knew she wouldn’t say any more. He knew she didn’t want him to say anything either. Enough had been said.

Aximili bade farewell to his father and gave Elairin’s regards to him. He walked back to his scoop, feeling as if he had been emptied out. He had expected this day to be exhausting for Tobias, but he hadn’t expected that he would also be so affected. 

Aximili stepped back into his scoop, feeling a bit of relief that he would be able to relax with Marco. They were in the middle of watching the original _Battlestar Galactica_ , which Marco insisted was required viewing for the remake that was about to come out. Aximili wasn’t sure that was actually the case, but it was always easier to give in to Marco. On homeworld, he seemed even louder than on Earth. 

Aximili froze. He had been expecting to hear the television when he entered, but it was off. In fact, the whole scoop was silent.

Marco was nowhere to be found. There weren’t many places to search. He wasn’t on the couch. He wasn’t at the terminal. He wasn’t in bed. He wasn’t in the shower.

Aximili’s hearts began to race. He hadn’t been gone as long as he expected. He ran through the possibilities in his mind. Marco could have gotten bored and gone for a walk or fly. Or one of Aximili’s political enemies could have taken him. Aximili searched for signs of a struggle, but found none. He crossed back to the entryway, but stopped at the tone and glow at his door. He had a visitor.

He opened the entry arch and was struck breathless by the Andalite who stood before him. He was sinewy, with willowy, delicate features. He was shorter than Aximili. His fur was midnight blue and reflective to the point it was nearly metallic and his eyes were the color of the ocean. His coat was intricately patterned in swirling stripes and spots so elaborate he could have been thirdborn. Even so, he was almost shockingly attractive.

He grinned. ‹Can I borrow some sugar?›


	21. Chapter 21

MARCO

_August 2002_

Marco watched sullenly from his seat at the bar while Ax chopped an onion with his tail blade. He usually thought Ax cooking as an Andalite was cute and funny, but Marco was in a dark mood. Ax had been in New York negotiating diplomatic agreements with the UN for almost three weeks. He’d been crashing in Marco’s New York apartment. Marco’s show was on break, and he was back on the talk show circuit. He had a spot on _Saturday Night Live_ in a few days. That kind of thing didn’t usually stress him out, but Ax was leaving the next day and Marco usually needed about a week to get himself together afterward. 

They rarely got to stay together for such a long time and coming home to each other had started to feel comfortable. Like it was how it should be. Marco was angry that he’d managed to lie to himself that they could have something normal. 

After all, it only took a trip out to dinner to remind him that it wasn’t normal. This Andalite-UN deal was big news. Ax was a VIP, so they had to be on their best professional behavior in public. Marco had been flipping his switch between three distinct roles -- Hollywood Marco at work, War Veteran Marco in public, and the closest thing to Real Marco that existed at home. He was exhausted.

Ax brushed the onions into the skillet with the long surface of his blade and gently stirred them. He checked the recipe on the portable computer interface that rested on the counter then turned to rinse his blade off at the sink. Marco studied his serene, thoughtful expression, feeling heat gather in his throat.

“I hate this,” Marco said, the words falling out of his mouth almost on their own.

Intellectually, Marco knew that Ax was probably as unhappy about leaving as he was. Marco knew that Ax took a lot of comfort in doing domestic human things and Marco was probably about to ruin that for him. Marco knew there wasn’t a real solution. But the words were out and all he’d needed was for the dam to break.

Ax’s iridescent green eyes flashed a guarded look. ‹I do not have to make gumbo. Would you rather have pasta?› He was giving Marco a chance to turn it around.

Marco had no intention of taking it. “You know I don’t mean the the food. I mean _this_. The thing we do where we’re colleagues and war buddies in public, then we come home and act like we’re a cute sexy couple, then you leave for two months. I’m sick of it. I hate it.”

‹What is it you want?› Ax dried his hands on a towel, just like a regular person would. Marco’s chest ached with how much he adored this blue centaur doing boring, normal human things around his house. 

“This?” Marco held his hands out like he was presenting something obvious. “You staying with me, the couple stuff, the cooking, the laundry. You like it,” he accused.

‹Is that a revelation? I thought you were more observant.› Ax’s tone was acquiescent even though his words weren’t. 

“Don’t play Andalite games with me. I’m not flirting with you.”

‹Yes, I enjoy getting to spend time with you over a prolonged period.› Ax’s stalk eyes were restless and he couldn’t help but add, ‹Obviously.›

“I’m tired of being a secret,” Marco admitted. Like releasing a pressure valve, his words started spilling out faster. “I want to go out and just act normal. I want to go on talk shows and be excited about my relationship. I want paparazzi to publish photos of us that say ‘Weird Alien Boyfriends Have Lovers’ Quarrel Over Dessert Spaghetti’ instead of ‘Animorphs’ Heated Diplomacy Debate Over Dessert Spaghetti.’”

Ax ignored Marco’s building crescendo and answered evenly, ‹I still think dessert spaghetti is good.›

“You still think silica gel packets have a fresh flavor and produce an intriguing sensation on the tongue!”

‹You are yelling.›

“You’re burning the onions.”

Ax huffed an abrupt sigh: the Andalite equivalent of _ugh_. He removed the smoking skillet from the flame and extinguished the burner. He turned back to Marco. ‹We both know it’s not an ideal situation. I believe we both want to continue the relationship. Do you know of an option that I do not?›

“Come out as a couple in a press conference,” Marco suggested, counting off on his fingers. “Organize a junket and kiss on camera. Make out on a park bench like when we were kids. _Fuck_ , Ax, do you realize this was easier during the war? Everything was horrible, but at least we were _free_. At least we could be just some nobody gay kids kissing in public.”

‹Those suggestions are all highly offensive in my culture and would probably result in my being dishonorably decommissioned,› Ax said, unamused. His stalk eyes were drooping and the lowest point of the arc of his tail grazed the tile.

“Yeah,” Marco muttered darkly. “I know.”

‹You want me to resign,› Ax concluded.

Marco inhaled sharply. Ax hit the nail on the head, and it was like a slap to the face. “You don’t have to _resign_. You can be a _consultant_. You can still do all your Earth diplomat things as a free agent. It’s not like you’d lose your skills and knowledge if you weren’t affiliated with the military.” Marco paused. “And you could live with me. All the time.”

Ax sighed. ‹It is important I remain in the military. I don’t only do work on Earth. That is just my official position. I don’t believe the downsizing initiative would be going nearly as well if I were not a symbol of the end of the war and the People’s desires.›

“Why do _you_ have to be a _symbol_?”

‹Because it is my duty, and it is right.›

“Fuck your duty.” Marco crossed his arms and looked away sullenly, anger and dissatisfaction still buzzing at the base of his skull.

Ax crossed his arms too and left the kitchen, his hooves clacking sharply as he crossed from tile to hardwood. Storming out wasn’t really an option because of the open floor plan, but Marco made a concerted effort to keep staring at the floor. Now that he’d said his piece, he felt hollowed out.

He looked up at the abandoned pan of burnt, stinking onions. A part of him said _that’s a perfect metaphor for this relationship_. Another part said _shut up, that doesn’t even make sense_. 

Marco hopped down from the bar chair. He scraped the onions into the garbage disposal. Anyone else would have had to wait until he turned it off, but Ax didn’t have to yell over the loud grinding. ‹What are you doing?›

Marco flipped the switch and rinsed off his hands. “You tapped out. I’m making dinner.”

‹You? Why?›

“Because I’m hungry and we’re not going out. I don’t want to spend our last night together pretending we’re not together,” Marco muttered. He leaned into the pantry and pulled out more onions, rice, and cans of tomatoes and beans. He eyeballed the amount of rice and water and didn’t look up when he felt Ax at his side.

‹And you would rather spend it arguing?› 

Marco lit the burner and put the lid on the rice. He watched the lid fog up with steam. “Yeah,” he said finally. “At least that’s not a lie.”

Ax snaked an arm around Marco from behind and gently pulled him back by his hip. Warmth spread up from Marco’s stomach into his throat, and he pressed his head back into Ax’s chest. Ax tightened his arms around Marco’s shoulders, nestling his face into Marco’s hair.

“I hate this,” Marco repeated, his voice cracking.

‹ _That’s_ a lie.›

“Let me cook,” Marco said, pulling away. Ax let his hands linger on Marco’s chest before he stepped back.

‹May I help?›

Marco glanced up at him. If cooking happened at his places, it was Ax who did pretty much all of it. Marco hadn’t helped him or cooked alongside him since he decided Ax was safe by himself. He was certainly past the point of being Marco’s sous chef. Marco’s first impulse was to tell Ax to just take back over. The eagerness in Ax’s expression made Marco bite it back. Ax liked cooking and cleaning. He liked doing those things together even more.

“Yeah,” Marco said.

‹Tell me what to do.›

“Gladly.”

\-----

_July 2004  
3971.1.75_

‹Marco?› 

‹No, it’s your neighbor, Galadriel.›

‹I have seen _The Lord of the Rings_ ,› Ax said, unamused. His stalk eyes darted around like he was paranoid Marco had been followed. As if that could happen when Marco had twice the usual amount of eyes. ‹ _Serahal_ , get inside.› 

Ax grabbed Marco by the hand and attempted to pull him down into the scoop. Marco yanked his hand back as quickly as if he’d touched a hot stove. Partly, it was for dramatic effect, and partly it was because he was legitimately shocked at how sensitive his hands were. He looked down at the hand Ax had touched, still feeling the warm tingle of soft velvet against velvet.

‹ _Excuse you_ , but I _know_ it’s inappropriate to touch hands with another Andalite,› Marco said in an affected arrogant tone.

Ax rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was tired and annoyed -- Marco sensed it like a pulsing aura around him. He’d been feeling Ax’s emotions since he morphed, like an undercurrent in the back of his mind. When they were apart, the sense of Ax had been like a feeling he’d forgotten something. Now that they were together, it was like the smell of burnt popcorn -- undeniable, permeating, and profoundly disappointing.

‹Marco, please,› Ax said, and the tone of his thought-speak mixed with the feeling that Ax’s patience was wearing thin caused Marco to capitulate. 

He walked into their scoop, keeping his upper torso straight and his tail obnoxiously high. Ax’s eyes lingered on those things: his posture, his bearing. He also lingered -- and his exasperation waned -- on Marco’s face, his sloping back, and the full length of his tail. Ax looked back up to his face and Marco grinned an Andalite grin. The annoyance returned.

‹You’ve been planning this,› Ax stated.

‹Obviously. What, did you think I was gonna stay underground like your dirty little secret?›

Ax’s expression hardened, and if Marco hadn’t been in Andalite morph, he would have thought it was a spike in irritation. His Andalite morph was like an Ax polygraph, though. Marco upset him by picking at the old wound.

‹Sorry,› Marco said quickly, like he was hoping it’d slip by unnoticed. ‹I know you want me here, and I get why we have to stay on the downlow. That’ll be easier if I can blend in.›

Ax snorted. ‹Do you think you blend in?›

Marco crossed his arms and wrenched his tail up even higher. ‹What? What am I doing wrong?›

‹Would you like an enumerated list or a diagram?› Ax disdained, his stalk eyes drifting again to Marco’s tail blade. 

Marco stepped forward. ‹How about a hands-on demonstration?› Ax felt a surge of anxiety so strong that Marco inhaled sharply. He shook his head. ‹Never mind. This is weird.›

‹Oh?› Ax said dryly. ‹That would certainly be a first for our relationship.›

Ax held his hand out. Marco stared at it with his main eyes and looked at Ax’s face with his stalk eyes. He was almost used to having basically unlimited fields of vision and the way his Andalite brain stitched the input from his four eyes together into a multi-angle panorama. Marco offered his hand to Ax, and he threaded their fingers together. Their hands brushed against each other like silk. Marco was prepared this time and wasn’t surprised by his hypersensitive Andalite sense of touch.

Their linked hands were like two wires touched together. Marco could feel Ax’s emotions flowing through him like a current. They ran together with whatever Marco was feeling, creating a swirl of confusion. Was it his anxiety or Ax’s? Was it his excitement or Ax’s? 

‹You know,› Marco said, ‹Finger-touching is how Vulcans make out.›

‹I have told you several times,› Ax said with a teasing smile, ‹Andalites are not Vulcans.›

Ax was holding both his hands now and lifted their hands up between their faces. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Ax brushed his knuckles against Marco’s cheek; Marco drew in a long breath. He’d thought Andalite hands were sensitive. Andalite faces felt a level of sensation Marco had no words to describe. 

Ax’s fingers on his face felt like hands running up his inner thighs, like teeth on his neck, like the tip of a tongue along the roof of his mouth. He leaned in so their chests touched, slipping his hands out of Ax’s grip to brush his fingers along Ax’s cheekbones. Ax mirrored his touch, his hands cupping Marco’s cheeks and his thumbs working slow, gentle circles under Marco’s eyes. 

Their separate consciousnesses diffused into each other like osmosis. If Marco was red and Ax was blue, each stroke of finger to face left purple streaks behind. Their individual thoughts smudged together. The focus became soft and indistinct. Pictures softened to colors, words to impressions of feelings. Their minds harmonized until everything was indistinct except _want_ and _need_.

‹Nice Vulcan mind meld,› Marco remarked.

‹You are so annoying,› Ax said, pressing their foreheads together.

‹You love me,› Marco accused. He was swimming in Andalite optimism and echoes of _finally_ and his inhibitions had been lost somewhere between them.

Ax entwined the last couple feet of their tails together, linking their blades. He didn’t have to say anything, but Ax said, ‹Yes.›

Ax used his tail as leverage and pulled Marco closer. The sharp edges of Marco’s mind felt tempered in their mingling with Ax’s warm clarity. In Ax, Marco could feel dark wounds -- the fresh, open sores of failure and guilt festering in the background while Ax tried to focus on hope and new experiences. Marco had always thought he and Ax worked because they were similar, but here in this shared experience, he could see their fundamental differences. It was clear that Ax would have done anything to not be the last person standing again. Ax regretted survival. Marco had done things he should regret more for his and his family’s survival.

They stood together, linked in mind and body, almost motionless except for their hands. Marco nearly lost track of time, even with an Andalite’s inherent orientation to the suns and stars. 

‹I need to demorph,› Marco said. 

They shared a wave of disappointment that Ax quickly pushed away. ‹Go ahead,› he said, his thumb tracing hypnotic circles into where the corner of Marco’s mouth would be if he had one. 

Marco demorphed, his acute sense of touch numbing, his field of vision decreasing, and his tail withering away out of the grip of Ax’s. He felt Ax’s mental presence grow distant and then vanish as if shut behind a door. Human again, he pressed his face into Ax’s chest fur. Ax let his hands drop from Marco’s face to his shoulders, giving him a light squeeze.

Feeling overloaded, Marco grabbed Ax’s hand, now acutely aware of what that felt like for him. He led Ax to the bedroom, sat down backwards on the bed, and pulled Ax’s hand until he stepped up onto the bed with him. Ax folded his legs underneath him and pulled Marco into his side with his tail. Marco buried his face in Ax’s side and closed his eyes, toying with the idea of taking a nap. 

“So what’s wrong with my morph?” Marco asked. “Or were you just flirting?”

‹I was, but as I said, you do not ‘blend in,’› Ax said. He ran his fingers through Marco’s hair idly. The blunt edge of his blade massaged the spot between Marco’s shoulder blades where he held the most tension. He’d just morphed so his muscles were nice and fresh, but it still felt good.

“Because I’m _such_ a sexy deer?” Marco muttered into Ax’s side.

‹Your Andalite morph _is_ … disturbingly attractive. But the intricacy of your coat patterning is high. You may have to deal with the assumption you are thirdborn.›

Marco propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at Ax. “Your mom said that about Menderash, didn’t she?”

‹Menderash is thirdborn, yes.›

Marco furrowed his brow. “Is that bad?”

‹In the generation before mine, the law was at least two parents were required per child. I was born shortly after the regulation was changed to one parent per child. Even then, a family must petition the Electorate for more than one offspring. I believe the likelihood of qualifying is correlated with military service in the immediate family. I probably would not exist if Elfangor had not joined the military.›

“So, okay, let me see if I follow,” Marco said. “It’s not a one-child policy. It’s a division of labor kind of thing? So if, say, a family had, oh, three parents? They could have three kids, no problem?”

‹They would still have to petition the Electorate, but yes.›

“Is that common?”

‹The most common family configuration is two parents, but as I understand, only for the last century or so. Traditional families may have encompassed a whole generation of unrelated adults coparenting all the children in the herd. That is uncommon now that our population is spread out and we are generally no longer nomadic. But as a culture, we still value being able to provide individualized care to our offspring.›

“And you can tell someone is thirdborn by looking at them?”

‹Yes. You’ll have noticed that most Andalites have solid coat patterns. The later in birth order the offspring is, the more patterned their fur, due to hormonal changes in the uterine environment,› Ax said. ‹My stripes and spots are uncommon, but not conspicuous. Menderash’s coat pattern was. I would say your morph is somewhere in the middle.›

Marco ran a finger down one of the stripes along Ax’s flank. Now that Ax pointed it out, he had mostly acquired striped Andalites. It must have been an unconscious preference. Marco had never wondered why Menderash was the only Andalite he’d seen with swirls like a tabby cat. “I guess there’s a social stigma?” 

Ax nodded. ‹Almost all thirdborn offspring are unauthorized by the Electorate. It is a deep dishonor for the family. It shows they are unconcerned for the greater good of the People and the wellbeing of their children.›

“Uh huh,” Marco intoned slowly. He could tell Ax was doing the thing where he had to be worked for information because his people’s idea of honor didn’t always align with his own. “And what happens to them?”

‹The family is punished with the removal of the child.›

Marco frowned. “And that’s not seen as punishing that child for something they had no choice in?”

Ax shifted uncomfortably and pulled his tail away from Marco so he could wrap it around his own body. ‹I believe it is considered to be for the child’s own good to remove them from their disgraced family.›

“Where do they take them?” Marco was still present in the conversation, but he was also recontextualizing every interaction he’d ever had with Menderash. He remembered every other Andalite’s insubordination and Menderash’s overcompensating harshness. He remembered how smug Menderash had been that Marco didn’t magically know his secrets. Someone as sneaky as Menderash must have hated being an open book because of the way he looked. Marco realized that a person whose appearance was a brand for a crime he didn’t commit may find it easier to give up that body.

‹There are communal child rearing communities for such children and for orphans who cannot be taken in by extended family.› Ax added reluctantly, ‹And _vecol_ children.›

Marco jerked away, grimacing. “Ax. Your people take disabled kids away from their families and raise them in group homes?”

‹I know you will not see it this way, but my people consider it a kindness. They are better prepared to uphold their adult duties.›

“What, because they don’t have families to miss? Jesus Christ,” Marco swore. He sat up and dangled his legs off the side of the bed. “Andalites are so fucked up, Ax.”

‹I have not forgotten the facilities Jake recruited the Auxiliary Animorphs from, Marco,› Ax said darkly.

“Those were a physical rehab and a school,” Marco protested. “That’s not compulsory segregation. You have a choice in that.”

‹Does the child have a choice?›

Marco snapped his mouth shut. Ax had come a long way since they met Mertil. But he still wasn’t going to let humans off the hook when Andalites looked bad. Marco took deep breaths and counted to ten. This was an old fight. Neither of them really had the moral high ground. Marco had to let it go.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t care if people think my Andalite morph is thirdborn.”

‹It shouldn’t be a significant issue, since you will mostly be around me and my family.›

Marco crossed his arms and turned back to Ax, who eyed him warily. “I’m done being a secret, Ax. If I can’t be your human boyfriend, I’m going to be your Andalite boyfriend.”

‹You aren’t serious.›

“Congrats on your new super hot boyfriend, Prince Aximili,” Marco said breezily, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning into Ax’s side. “The Andalite tabloids are going to be really impressed.” 

‹I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ll need to get my mother involved,› Ax said as if he was announcing the date of his execution.

Marco grinned. “Doesn’t it feel good to really embrace being a rebellious disappointment?”

‹Sometimes I think I am an expert on humans, and then you say things like that.›

“Well, you can teach me _Andalite 101_ and I’ll whip up a refresher course on humans for you. But if you don’t get that we’re into disobedience by now, you may be a lost cause.”

Ax smiled down at Marco conspiratorially. ‹At least I have an ideal teacher.›


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read it yet, put this fic down and go read my brilliant beta's fic: [Tell Me I'm Okay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11468535). It is one of the most insightful, funny, poignant pieces of fiction I've ever read and I'm so lucky to have [LilacSolanum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum)'s help making my own writing better.

AXIMILI

The first rays of sunlight peeked up between the trees. The stream babbled gently at his hooves. Aximili watched the dark red of the night sky change slowly into molten copper as the suns rose over the horizon. He dipped his hoof into the water, preparing for the morning ritual.

‹Hey,› interrupted Marco. ‹Can I do it too?› 

He thought he had sneaked up on Aximili but of course he hadn’t. It was difficult to sneak up on any Andalite, but Marco, still clumsy and inattentive to where his hooves fell, had no chance. He was lucky he was cute.

Marco smiled a beaming eye-smile, perhaps picking up on Aximili’s feelings. In his human body, even though he freely broadcasted his own emotions, Marco blocked out all but the strongest incoming empathic signal from Aximili. He either didn’t know how in his Andalite morph or didn’t care to. 

‹Do you really want to do the morning ritual?› Aximili said reluctantly. ‹Just because you have that body doesn’t mean you aren’t mocking my culture.›

‹Me? Mock?› Marco put his delicate hand on his chest in a very human gesture of affront.

Aximili shook his head. ‹You are hopeless.›

‹You mean my years of close observation of the famous Prince Aximili haven’t prepared me to be the perfect Andalite warrior?›

Aximili sighed. ‹Come over here, in front of the water.›

Marco did as he was told, sidling up parallel to Aximili, so close their flanks brushed. Aximili struggled to maintain his posture. Of course no Andalite would ever breech his personal space so indiscreetly, especially not while doing daily rituals. Even at the Academy, where _arisths_ didn’t always leave rivalries in the sparring field, no one would have stood closer than a hand’s breadth to another. Marco still knew nothing of propriety.

Aximili looked back to the sky, his dignity intact as long as he didn’t react. ‹Repeat after me,› he said to Marco. Surprising even himself, Aximili ran deliberately through the morning ritual. Perhaps he was slow in an attempt to force Marco to take it seriously. Perhaps it was because Marco’s movements in his lithe Andalite morph were distracting in their gracelessness. The light glistened off him like twinkling stars, caught and refracted in the clarity of his coat. Was Marco’s morph objectively so attractive, or had Aximili built up the idea of it after so many years of sharing humanity with Marco? 

They finished the ritual with their blades at their throats. Tingling numbness ran in waves all the way from Aximili’s hooves to his chest. Sharing Andalite rituals with Marco was very different than the times he had done the same with Tobias. 

When Aximili relaxed his tail, signaling the end of the ritual, Marco swept his tail low to the ground behind him. He tipped his blade back and forth. Aximili wondered if the gesture was instinctive or if Marco knew how to indicate he was pensive.

‹Is there a civilian version of that ritual?› Marco asked. ‹It’s kinda weird for me to pledge allegiance to Jake at this point.›

Aximili smiled slyly. ‹Is Jake your prince?›

‹Who else -- oh.› Marco smiled back and leaned forward, nearly brushing shoulders with Aximili. ‹Obedience to my prince is my only glory, huh?›

‹I regret my previous insinuation,› Aximili said. ‹You were doing so well at not mocking the ritual.›

‹I’m not mocking,› Marco objected. Shamelessly, he curled the tip of his tail around Aximili’s and linked their blades together. Aximili held his breath. Physical contact was so much more intimate in his own body. ‹Give me an order, _my prince_. I promise I’ll obey like a good Andalite.›

Aximili ran his hands down Marco’s arms and touched their fingertips together. Marco swayed, still not used to his Andalite senses. Aximili leaned down until their faces nearly brushed together. He was grateful to coincidence or providence that Marco’s Andalite morph was still significantly smaller than him; their size difference was the most expedient way to reverse the balance in Aximili’s favor. Marco fluttered his main eyes; his stalk eyes were foolishly focused on Aximili. Marco made a terrible Andalite.

‹Demorph,› Aximili said in a low, suggestive tone. ‹My parents are expecting us.›

Marco groaned and wilted dramatically. He laid his head on Aximili’s shoulder, imploring with big sea green eyes. ‹I can’t go like this?›

‹You promised to obey,› Aximili needled. 

Marco snorted and backed away. ‹You’re the galaxy’s biggest buzzkill.› 

‹It will have to be enough that you sprang your morph on me,› Aximili said. ‹My parents already tolerate you more than you deserve.›

‹You have such a natural sense for romance, Ax.› Marco was almost back to his normal human self but still didn’t have a mouth.

‹Thank you.›

Marco rolled his eyes and linked his arm with Aximili’s. “I know you get sarcasm,” he said when his mouth appeared.

‹You’ll never be fit to go out in public, you know,› Aximili said as they walked toward his parents’ scoop.

“I’ll blend in at least as well as you did on Earth,” Marco said, nudging his shoulder into Aximili’s side and causing him to stumble slightly. If he’d been human, he may have tripped.

‹I am going to be court martialed,› Aximili said dryly. 

When they entered his parents’ scoop, his mother shouted, ‹Aximili!› Aximili cringed. He slipped his arm free of Marco’s. ‹Can you explain why we received a priority comm request from high command at 0200 this morning?›

‹I have no idea.› Aximili’s hearts began to race. Why would high command contact his parents? Had they found Menderash? Did they know about Marco? He had been joking about being court martialed, but the real threat of it always hung over him like a blade about to fall.

‹It seems they are being bothered relentlessly by a certain former Visser’s former host who has been trying to reach you.› Aximili thought he detected a hint of amusement in her thought-speak but with his mother he could never be completely sure. Marco went rigid next to Aximili. ‹Did you block her comm signal?› 

‹Of course not,› Aximili said. Beside him, Marco shifted uneasily. Aximili sighed. ‹Marco, did you blacklist your own mother?› Marco bunched his lips up in an expression of guilt. Aximili could tell he was debating whether or not to lie. ‹Marco. Really?›

Aximili’s father, who had been regarding them with stalk eyes from his position at the workstation, turned to examine Marco incredulously. ‹Is he capable of that?›

‹Please speak to Marco directly, Father,› Aximili said wearily. He was still attempting to castigate Marco with his eyes, but Marco was characteristically unmoved.

Marco rolled his eyes. “I know you guys aren’t big on humility, but Andalite computers aren’t unfathomable for my simple human brain. They’re not that different from human computers.”

‹You may use our terminal to contact your mother,› Aximili’s mother said. Her tone reminded Aximili of the the rare occasions Tobias had been so impressed with himself that he regaled Aximili of his hunts. Aximili knew of no Andalite who had a predator’s instincts like his mother.

“Uh,” Marco said. “I can wait until we get home.”

Aximili crossed his arms. ‹Oh no, I don’t think it can wait. You should do it here.› Marco shot a poisonous look at Ax. ‹That’s an order,› Aximili added privately.

Marco’s lips parted soundlessly, just for a moment, then he lifted his eyebrows and bit back a smirk. He joined Aximili’s father at the workstation. Taking a deep breath, Marco engaged the comm system while Aximili’s father stared at him with awe. As the signal pulsed for longer than it usually took to contact Earth, Marco let his breath out slowly.

With a shrug, he turned back to Aximili just as Eva’s holographically projected face appeared behind him. “Marco Sławomir Lisiewicz Castillo.” Marco cringed and turned back toward the screen. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“I missed you?” Marco proposed.

“Oh, I’m not accepting suggestions,” Eva snapped. Her expression was cold. Aximili had spent many hours with Eva. Mostly she was like Marco. But sometimes Aximili would catch a flash of her that still made chills run through him. Sometimes he saw both Marco and the Visser at the same time.

“Are you _insane_?” This was one of those times. “Last I heard, Ax was presumed dead, and last I heard before that, he broke your heart. So please explain to me why I had to interrogate _Jake_ to find out that my son is shacking up with his supposedly ex-boyfriend halfway across the galaxy.”

Marco brushed some of his hair behind his ear. Aximili could hear the charming smile in his words. “Technically,” he said, “the Milky Way is 100,000 light years across, so Earth and Andalite are practically next door in the grand scheme of things.”

Eva rolled her eyes. Aximili thought he recognized the ice breaking apart. Like Marco, Eva could only sustain fury in short but fearsome bursts. But it was possible they could both hold a grudge forever.

“It’s been two months since you called me. I’ve been sick with worry. I thought you died in space.”

Marco leaned forward. “Sorry, Mom.”

Eva lifted a brow skeptically. “ _Sorry_? Is this even my son?”

“What? Yeah,” Marco said. 

She shook her head with a crisp laugh. “I’m kidding.” She narrowed her eyes. “Sort of. I just can’t remember the last time you apologized and it wasn’t to get something or get out of something.”

“Jeez, Mom, I love you too,” Marco said sardonically.

Both her eyebrows shot up and Eva leaned away from the screen. “Now I know you’ve been bodysnatched.”

“Must run in the family,” Marco said. 

Eva laughed. “Okay, maybe you are Marco.”

Aximili looked at both his parents to gauge their reactions. The first time he’d heard Marco make the “bodysnatched” gibe, Aximili braced himself for a fight. Instead, Eva had laughed and it became a running joke. Aximili had to force himself to accept their casual cruelty as a bonding ritual. Expectedly, his father was disturbed that a former host could be so casual about her captivity. His mother was smiling, a keen look in her eyes. She saw something in Eva she respected. Aximili didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing.

Eva’s expression grew serious. “Jake caught me up on what happened. Is Ax okay?” 

Aximili was surprised that her first impulse was to ask after his welfare. Eva had always been skeptical of him; she reminded Aximili of the way Marco regarded him when he’d first joined the Animorphs. Her suspicion was compounded by her poor outlook on Andalites in general. While it was unlikely that Aximili would ever fully gain Eva’s trust, he was somewhat moved by her concern.

Marco twisted to look over his shoulder at Aximili. Aximili didn’t feel like he needed to even hint to Marco how to answer. The look Marco gave him was an assurance that he didn’t have to worry. Marco had a lot of practice pretending things were okay.

Marco turned back to the projection of his mother. “He’s fine.” Marco waved his hand like swatting a pest. “He needed a few days in the Andalite hospital, but now he’s home and going to work like a productive member of alien society.”

“Wow, _productive_ ,” Eva said. “Do you two have anything in common at all?”

Marco snorted and both of Aximili’s parents started at the sound. “Yeah, for one, we both have totally domineering moms.”

Aximili laughed reflexively, then attempted to pass it off as a bit of congestion. The flesh along his mother’s spine twitched; if her fur weren’t sheared, she would be prickling. His father smiled at his mother and she softened the curve of her stalk eyes. Aximili pointed both his stalk eyes at the scoop exit; he would rather not watch his parents flirt.

“Well, I hope your mother-in-law has better luck with you than I had,” Eva snarked. 

“ _God_ , Mom, we’re living together; we’re not married.”

“If you have an alien wedding and don’t invite me, I swear to God, I will steal a spaceship and skin you alive,” Eva said, her tone absolutely sincere.

Marco dragged the palm of his hand from his cheek up to rub at his his right eye. “Alright, Mom, you’ll be the first to know when I get my flower crown or woven grass bracelet or whatever they do here.” Marco gathered his hair, brought it all over one shoulder, and twisted it in his hands. “Is there anything else?”

“Now that you’re not avoiding me, you _could_ call more often,” Eva said flatly.

“Got it,” Marco muttered.

“I guess it’s pretty clear you’re all in one piece.” Eva pressed her lips together the same way Marco did when he was thinking of something that was probably better left unsaid. “You know, I wouldn’t have been _more_ angry if you had told me before Jake and the others rolled up and you weren’t with them. I thought I raised you with better long-term planning.”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Marco said. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I’ll try not to.” Eva looked down. “You can come back whenever you’re ready. Don’t stay because you think you’ve committed yourself to something. This is your home. Okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” Marco said, looking off to the side to avoid her looking back up at him. He waited a beat and then added, “Thanks for inviting me back to my own house where you live rent-free like a deadbeat.”

Eva rolled her eyes. Still serious, she said, “Your dad has been really worried about you. Would you talk to him if he came here?”

Marco scoffed and said in a low voice, “It’d be pretty hard to manage group therapy with me in space, wouldn’t it? Can Andalite phones do three-way calls with landlines or should I send his therapist one of their own?”

“Marco,” Eva said, matching his tone. “It’s been _two years_ since you spoke. How do you think Peter felt when we didn’t know if you were okay?”

Marco looked away again. “Are we done? I’ll call you next week.”

“Fine,” Eva said. “I’m glad you and Ax aren’t dead. If you don’t call me, I’m calling this line back.”

“This is Ax’s parents’ house,” Marco objected.

Eve smirked and lifted her brow. “I thought that it might be. I’m sure I’d have a lot to talk about with them.”

“ _Mom._ ”

“Bye, Marco,” Eva said and disconnected her transmission.

Aximili regarded his parents’ reactions. His father looked thoughtful. ‹Humans speak to each other somewhat discourteously, don’t they?›

‹That’s mostly just Marco and his mother,› Aximili answered.

Aximili’s mother was tipping her blade back and forth. ‹Get out of Noorlin’s way so he can get back to work,› she ordered Marco.

“Pssh, yes, princess,” Marco said and joined Aximili on the other side of the scoop.

Aximili’s mother kept her main eyes on his father back at the workstation; one of her stalk eyes was pointed at the exit and the other at Aximili. ‹This has been enlightening, but we are busy. You said you needed my input on something, Aximili?›

Aximili sighed. He had been grateful for the diversion from the primary purpose of their visit. So far his parents had been tolerant of Marco’s indiscretions. This request would be asking a lot, even from them.

‹Marco… assembled an Andalite morph,› Aximili said.

Aximili’s mother’s hackles twitched again. His father looked shocked. Marco slipped a hand surreptitiously around Aximili’s elbow. ‹Who did he acquire?› Aximili’s mother asked, her blade poised over her shoulder.

Marco cleared his throat to get her to look at him directly. “I acquired ten Andalites and got permission from all of them. That’s legal, right?”

‹I am not sure that the regulations apply to aliens,› Aximili’s father said.

‹Seerow’s Kindness is all but repealed,› his mother said, narrowing her eyes keenly at Marco. ‹Caysath is negotiating with the human governments as we speak to distribute morphing technology amongst the humans and to establish a bilateral tourist trade.› She took a step closer to Marco; Marco tightened his grip on Aximili’s arm. ‹I should think if playing human is the draw for tourism to Earth, we will have to determine what is acceptable for human tourists here, will we not?›

Aximili tilted his head toward her. ‹Are you saying you’re fine with this?› 

‹Let’s see it,› she said cryptically. Her unpredictable indirectness was among her most unseemly traits. There was no middle-ground with her: she was either the blunt edge of the blade or the lethal strike. 

Marco held his breath and began to morph. It was possibly the longest morph Aximili had ever witnessed; at least it seemed like it. As Marco’s Andalite form overtook him, Aximili’s hearts began to race. He was unsure if it was because he was still not used to the morph or because he was anticipating his parents’ reaction. 

When the morph was complete, Aximili watched his mother take in his coat patterning. A pulse of bitter remorse radiated from her. Aximili had been reminded of Menderash the first time Marco had morphed Andalite. His mother was still scraped raw by the thought of him. More and more, Aximili was beginning to understand that his mother needed to be in control of her nostalgia.

‹Shit,› Marco hissed privately. ‹Your mom is so purple. I thought she was black.›

‹She is ultraviolet,› Aximili explained. ‹It’s a recessive trait.›

Aximili’s mother closed the distance between the three of them. Unceremoniously, she grabbed Marco’s forearm away from where he was still holding onto Aximili. She studied his arm in her hands, then looked him over once more. ‹What did you want from me?›

Before Marco could answer, the scoop exit slid open and Tobias, in Andalite morph, entered. He stopped abruptly at the sight of an apparent stranger. Marco, already used to his stalk eyes, turned so that he could smile with his main eyes at Tobias. Although he didn’t appreciate the antipathy between his mate and his shorm, Aximili was impressed that Marco was already managing an expression as complex as a malicious smile. Marco did not pull his arm from Aximili’s mother’s grasp. 

‹Look at _you_ ,› Marco said. It was the first time he had seen Tobias’ Andalite morph. His voice had the same tone as when the three of them would watch _Baywatch_ back in Aximili’s Earth scoop. 

‹ _Marco_ ,› Tobias said with a gasp. He took a step back. He almost tripped on his own tail because he’d let it fall to the ground.

‹Tired of the whole sad nerd thing, huh? Decided you’d be a sexy jock in this incarnation?›

‹You have to take everything for yourself, don’t you?› Tobias said.

‹Oh, I’m sorry, do you own Andalites?› Marco scoffed.

Tobias shook his head, quickly, as if trying to clear a clutter of thoughts. His chest fur raised in a way that reminded Aximili of his feathers rustling. Aximili saw the tinges of brown start at the tips of Tobias’ fur. He needed to fly away. Almost mechanically, he backed out of the scoop, shrinking rapidly. He was gone.

Aximili moved to follow him.

‹Ax,› Marco said, his thought-speak drawn. He pointed his stalk eyes to his arm, still in Aximili’s mother’s hands. ‹I need you here.›

Aximili was tired of being pulled between Marco and Tobias. Their friction was grating at his relationships with both of them.

Aximili’s father walked over calmly and held Aximili’s wrist. His hand was warm. His confident optimism seeped into Aximili through his touch. ‹I will speak to Tobias. You continue mediating Marco and Forlay. It will be fine.›

Aximili sighed. He watched his father follow Tobias, then turned back to his mother and Marco. His mother was still examining Marco, as if nothing awkward had happened at all. 

‹What do you want?› she repeated.

‹I want to be able to go out in public. I wanna be something to Ax. I need to be _someone_.›

Aximili’s mother turned her stalk eyes to Aximili, but locked her main eyes with Marco’s. She maintained eye contact for far longer than was appropriate. ‹Forging an identity is a crime punishable by mutilation and exile. I would not do such a thing.›

‹Yes, you would,› Marco objected.

Aximili’s mother narrowed her eyes, still boring into Marco. ‹I have people for that.›

Marco tilted his head down, narrowing his eyes back at her. ‹And he doesn’t have to worry about mutilation and exile, does he?›

‹Of course not. He accomplished those things on his own.›

‹Menderash is on Earth now,› Marco said. ‹But who knows where? Or how to reach him?›

Aximili toed at the floor of his parents’ scoop with the point of his hoof. ‹I suspect Mertil will know.›

Both Marco and Aximili’s mother turned their heads to look at Aximili. ‹Why?› asked Marco.

‹Conjecture,› Aximili said. In truth, he wasn’t sure if Mertil and Menderash had maintained their friendship since Menderash had become a human. He had little desire to expose their private affairs, especially to his mother. Menderash hadn’t discussed his plans for when he got to Earth with Aximili. But it was the only option Aximili could see. Menderash was skilled in many ways, but even he would need more time to establish himself in the complexities of Earth society. ‹Contact Mertil. Trust me.›


	23. Chapter 23

MARCO

The last time Marco had seen Menderash, he’d been held in a choke hold. Not the sexy kind of choking, either, though Marco was sure Menderash could deliver on that if he wanted to. Marco forwarded his reports, encrypted and scrambled, to Menderash, care of Mertil. At least Menderash wouldn’t be able to call him lazy, even if he’d had time to come up with a litany of other things to call him.

Marco gave it a few more days after sending his reports before he made contact. He figured out from the media leaks that Jake, Jeanne, and Santorelli had arrived back on Earth with Caysath’s cruiser less than a week before. He’d give Menderash some time to settle in, some time to look over the reports. 

Meanwhile Marco tried to weasel out of Ax what was up with Menderash and Mertil.

‹Don’t grab at me with your feet. Are humans even supposed to be able to do that?›

“How many hours total do you think I’ve been a gorilla?” Marco nudged at Ax’s front hoof, pulling at the edge of the remote with his toes.

Ax arched his tail in a loop around Marco’s leg and pinned his foot gently with the blunt end of his blade. ‹Don’t even try it. We are watching _Shark Week_.›

“Ugh, Ax, we’ve _been_ sharks. These nature documentaries are so _boring_. Can we at least see what’s on ESPN?”

‹Watching human sports is wasteful. You can see the results on the internet. Think of how many episodes of _The Young and the Restless_ we could watch during the course of one sporting event.›

“I’d rather not think about how many episodes of _The Young and the Restless_ I’ve watched in the last few weeks, actually.”

‹Approximately 1,536,› Ax said.

“No way. Are there even that many episodes total?”

Ax snorted derisively. ‹There are 7,936 episodes of _The Young and the Restless_ as of the last airdate. 1,536 Earth hours is my rough estimate for the amount of time you have spent in gorilla morph.›

“‘Rough estimate,’” Marco repeated. 

‹Yes,› Ax confirmed. ‹I didn’t join the team for several months. And sometimes you morph gorilla to open jars.›

“You’re just jealous you can’t open jars like, at all, and you need a big, strong man to help you.” Marco’s left foot joined his right to yank a bit of fur on Ax’s flank with his toes. Ax twisted like poking an unsuspecting person in the tender part of their side, and Marco grabbed the remote with his right foot. “Hah!”

‹Very mature, Marco.› 

“Always.” Marco turned off the TV and put the remote aside. He pitched himself forward and flopped onto Ax’s side, feeling the weird huff of breath compressing from his secondary respiratory system up into his main lungs. “Hey, Ax.”

‹What do you want?› Ax said. He said it like he was annoyed, but he stretched his legs out so his lower body was flat enough for Marco to shift into a comfortable position.

“I want you to spill.”

‹I have nothing to spill,› Ax objected. Marco actually watched him calculate if he wanted to make some kind of overly literal remark, but Ax noticed Marco’s anticipatory look and let it hang. Some kind of unspoken “Andalites have no need for cups” joke. Marco snorted, then realized he’d reacted as if Ax had said something anyway.

“You ever hate yourself because you’ve become one of those ‘gross couple’ people?”

‹Not for that reason, no,› Aximili said casually.

“You know who else would be a gross couple?”

‹You and I are pretty much the peak from the perspective of Andalite society, actually.›

“You sure?” Marco pushed himself up so he was straddling Ax like a horse. He scooted forward up along Ax’s back until he could press himself into Ax’s upper torso, letting his feet dangle around what would have been Ax’s humanoid hips if that part wasn’t where a deer’s neck would also go. “Because Mertil and Menderash would be a pretty gross couple, wouldn’t they?”

Ax sighed deeply. ‹I don’t know anything about their personal association.›

“You were their boss, dude.” Marco pressed his face into the space between Ax’s shoulderblades. Ax sighed again, a different sigh.

‹Haven’t I proven that I wasn’t a very good boss?› Ax said softly. ‹Mertil and Menderash are my mother’s agents first. Their relationship is that of two colleagues. That is all I know.›

“Mmhmm,” Marco hummed insincerely into Ax’s back. “Because Menderash gave up his life for Forlay, right?”

‹I truly cannot tell you what motivates Menderash.› Ax drew in a deep, slow breath as Marco laced his fingers together around Ax’s waist and tilted his chin into Ax’s spine. ‹This is a very odd interrogation technique,› Ax remarked.

“I’m multitasking,” Marco said, letting his words vibrate into Ax’s back. He felt Ax’s fur twitch under his face. “Menderash is thirdborn. Mertil is a _vecol_. You think they have a lot to talk about?”

‹I have never spoken to Menderash about his social status.› Ax swiveled until he could grasp a handful of Marco’s hair. He wound it around his fingers and gently pulled Marco’s head back. Marco gasped and held his breath, heat rushing from his chest to his face like a pot of water suddenly boiling. ‹Something I think you don’t understand about my culture is that we are expected to anticipate the wishes of others. Since that is very difficult unless you know a person well, many topics are taboo. This is to minimize social discomfort.›

“Best not to talk about that pesky class discrimination, huh?” Marco’s head was still tilted back, his neck exposed. Ax was making eye contact with his stalk eyes.

‹In truth, I have often wondered what Mertil and Menderash talk about,› Ax admitted, letting go of Marco’s hair. ‹As you know, Mertil was a fighter pilot before he became a _vecol_. That position confers status. But also, his father is a War-Prince. Their scoop is actually fairly close; I am familiar with it. It is the only scoop in a large hill. It is the sort of dwelling you stare at as you pass and wonder about the occupants. Andalites are assigned territory based on occupation and social standing.›

“So Mertil grew up in Andalite Beverly Hills and Menderash grew up in a group home. Huh.” Marco nestled his cheek into the curve of Ax’s back, the sense of satisfaction warm in his chest. Ax’s propriety was not greater than his nose for juicy gossip. Soap operas had done him no favors.

‹I anticipated that Menderash would resent Mertil. He is not typically… indulgent of those who outrank him. Which is nearly everyone. But they actually had a close association with each other through my mother’s network before they knew who the other was.› 

Marco snorted. “Mertil is Menderash’s hot Canadian boyfriend.”

‹I don’t understand,› Ax said, but went on. ‹Of course, I have never asked, because it is their private matter, but I have thought about what it must be like to be Mertil. Fighter pilots are… they’re like movie stars, sports stars, and war heroes rolled into one. If Mertil and Gafinilan had both died in battle, their story would have been the sort of iconic tragedy that becomes legend in my culture.›

Marco was silent for a moment. “Like Elfangor.”

‹Even more, but yes,› Ax agreed. ‹They were _shorms_ and that bond may as well be sacred in my culture.›

“So Mertil was _everything_ and then he lost his tail and was nothing. Menderash has always been only a little better than nothing,” Marco concluded. 

‹Can you see why I have sometimes imagined becoming a fly to see what they do?›

“Menderash would swat you,” Marco said.

‹You are joking, but…›

Marco moved his hands up to Ax’s shoulders to steady himself. He carefully pulled his left leg around, slipped down to the ground, grabbed his pad, and sank back down into the other side of the couch. Ax reached for the remote and turned _Shark Week_ back on.

“Mute that, I’m about to make a call and I need to know if the screams of someone being mauled are on my end or Mertil’s.” Marco added, “If Menderash is there, you never know.”

Marco connected to his proxies, encrypted the signal, and initiated the contact with Mertil’s terminal. Mertil answered almost as soon as the signal patched through. He looked ruffled, like he’d been running all day.

Marco grinned. “Mertil. You look --” Marco cleared his throat pointedly. “-- beat. Have you taken up a new exercise routine or something?”

‹Hello, Marco,› Mertil said, ignoring Marco’s insinuation. ‹You look like homeworld is agreeing with you. I, however, haven’t slept in six Earth days. Please forgive my appearance and brevity. Is something wrong?›

“No, we’re fine,” Marco said. In a suggestive tone, he asked, “What’s been keeping you up?”

‹These reports you sent,› Mertil said dully. 

“Oh? Funny, I thought those were locked down with Menderash’s encryption codes. I must’ve really screwed the pooch.” 

‹I’m not quite sure what you mean…›

“A pooch is a dog. Now that I think about it, it’s kind of a disturbing turn of phrase,” Marco said.

‹Are you calling here looking for Menderash, Marco?›

“Why would I do something like that, Mertil?”

Mertil sighed deeply, his stalk eyes focused behind him. ‹Menderash is staying here until he figures out something more permanent. I suspect you know that.›

“Oh?” Marco’s tone had steadily been rising with false incredulity, and this time his voice actually cracked. He cleared his throat.

‹Please stop making such awful sounds. Do you have some sort of clever remark or don’t you?›

“I mean, I’ve been trying to think of something, but honestly I’m mostly just baffled that you’ve had a conversation with Menderash and are willing to let him be in the same room with you while you sleep.”

Mertil laughed weakly. ‹I actually haven’t yet.›

“Wild nights?” Marco waggled his eyebrows. Mertil’s eyes moved up and down, watching them. 

‹Yes, quite a lot of ‘wild nights,’› Mertil confirmed. ‹I haven’t had nights like these since my days at the Academy.›

“You’re fucking with me,” Marco said blandly. “It isn’t fun to make fun of you for dating the Andalite Marquis de Sade if you play along.”

‹’Dating,’› Mertil repeated. He tilted his head inquisitively. ‹Do you really think I would have such an association with a human _nothlit_?›

Marco pursed his lips. He’d already considered it. He hadn’t forgotten how Mertil told him that he’d begged Gafinilan to stay human to save himself. Once you’ve accepted that you could handle something like that, the fact that you learned that about yourself doesn’t go away even if the situation changes. Even when you move on, you don’t forget that feeling, especially if accepting it is the only thing between you and a life alone. For once, Marco knew to keep his mouth shut.

“I happen to know that you’re one of those guys who acts all proper and dignified, but all you really care about is jumping off of things and sick plane tricks. Honor in the streets, freak in the sheets. You get me?”

Mertil smiled. ‹No one gets you, Marco. But you should try that one on Menderash, I’m sure he would like it.›

“Menderash is a freak in the streets, and I’m scared to think about him in the sheets.” Marco added, “Maybe equal parts scared and curious, like when you can’t look away from a train crash. Hm. Yeah, maybe just curious.”

‹Sometimes I think ‘I miss Marco, I wish I could see him more.’ And then you pay me your yearly visit, and I have flashbacks to the time you wrecked my scoop, made me write Aximili’s name seventy-two times, and refused to leave until I rewatched the first season of your own television series with you. I then accept that a yearly visit is satisfactory.›

“You know, that explains it,” Marco said. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

‹And I have very poor taste in the company I keep,› Mertil said agreeably. ‹Did you actually want to speak to Menderash?›

Mertil wasn’t budging. Marco couldn’t exactly employ the information extraction techniques he used on Ax, for a number of reasons. “Yeah, okay. Good to see you.”

‹You as well. I suspect Menderash will not tell you, but I have been impressed with your work.›

Mertil sounded too sincere and Marco felt his ears get hot. “Are you flirting with me? Because that sounds like a backhanded compliment. I get it, I’m irresistible, but you’re just so far away.”

Mertil shook his head -- Marco grinned; even Mertil was starting to pick up human mannerisms. ‹We will talk later, Marco,› he said. 

The holo of Mertil cut directly to another angle of his scoop and Menderash centered the display on his face. Marco didn’t expect to have tightness in his chest when he saw him, like a warm memory suddenly surfacing. It wasn’t like Marco had enjoyed the time they spent together. When Marco thought of the _Rachel_ , all he really remembered was how cold and empty and hopeless he’d felt. But there it was anyway, the feeling of seeing an old friend, even though the “friendly” interactions they’d had were more like derisive tolerance.

‹I could hear your conversation with Mertil,› Menderash said. He used thought-speak, his angular, enigmatic features motionless and expressionless. But Marco saw the characteristic spark, the dark fire burning behind his eyes, even in a hologram projected from 80 light years away. 

“When’s the wedding?” Marco asked.

‹After your funeral,› Menderash replied without missing a beat. ‹It will be a double ceremony and the party afterward will be unlike anything you’ve ever seen.›

Marco laughed. “You look better. Not so ‘Stallone at the end of _Rocky I_.’”

Menderash didn’t smile, but he never did. ‹Is Aximili with you?›

Marco looked over at Ax. He’d switched over from _Shark Week_ to _The Young and the Restless_ and was watching it with captions on. Ax noticed Marco’s look and began examining his fingers like he’d seen on TV when people pretended they weren’t paying attention. Since Ax didn’t have fingernails, it was even more conspicuous that he was unabashedly eavesdropping.

“Yes,” Marco confirmed.

‹How is he?› Menderash asked. Ax looked at Marco, dropping his disinterested facade in surprise.

“Oh, Ash!” Marco put a hand on his chest. “You really _do_ care!” Marco turned his pad toward Ax. “Say hi, Ax.” Ax glared at Marco and waved ambivalently. “See? He’s great.”

Menderash’s expression hadn’t changed. Calling him really was the way to go -- at this point in person, Menderash would either have left or roughed him up a bit, even after Marco told him most people don’t like it rough every time. 

‹It’s good that you’re on homeworld,› Menderash said. ‹If Aximili gets tired of you, and you happen to disappear, there won’t even be an inquest.›

“I missed you too, buddy,” Marco said. He was being sincere. “I’m trying to call in a favor.”

Menderash tilted his head to the side. ‹From me? What do you need?›

“I just need you to forge an identity for me,” Marco said as casually as if he’d said _could you pick up some salt on the way home?_

Menderash awkwardly looked over both his shoulders, like he was afraid he was being watched. ‹Is your connection secure?›

“Ash. Really?” Marco tilted his head down to peer at Menderash incredulously. “Noorlin set up a VPN and a series of proxies for me, and I ran the security protocols you left me. I only use this pad, and unless _you’re_ a fuckup, I’m good.”

Menderash’s mouth twitched, which was an extreme expression from him; too bad it was still completely inscrutable. ‹Why do you need a forged identity?›

“Keep up, Ash,” Marco chided. “I got an Andalite morph and I don’t wanna be the only guy out there with no Social Security number or whatever.”

Menderash looked up from his holo camera (or however these things worked). He took a minute to look back down. ‹Interesting. I wish I could be there to see that.›

“What, you want to see me blow everyone away with what an awesome Andalite I am?” Marco grinned when Ax snorted loudly next to him.

‹Yes, exactly that,› Menderash said.

“I _can_ show you,” Marco said.

‹Hold on, let me transfer this back to Mertil’s workstation.› The feed cut again to the first angle of the scoop and Marco saw Mertil, smiling like someone told him he’d just won an award for best poetry written while flying without dying. Menderash joined him, shorter than his shoulder, and Marco could swear Menderash looked more eager than he’d ever seen him.

Marco morphed. With his audience of rapt Andalites/Andalite-human hybrid freaks, the morph seemed to take like three times longer. Marco never got performance anxiety except when he morphed.

Mertil and Menderash were quiet when the morph completed. Menderash was the first to say something. ‹You already fucked up.›

‹I’m _fine_ ,› Marco objected.

‹I mean,› Mertil started in a conciliatory way, ‹He’s sort of borderline, don’t you think?›

‹This is going to make your forgery take longer,› Menderash said. ‹Do you have to make everything more difficult?›

‹I like attention,› Marco said.

‹Don’t you think it’s funny,› Mertil said thoughtfully, ‹that he ended up, well…›

‹Mertil thinks you resemble me,› Menderash said bluntly.

Ax spoke up, ‹He intentionally acquired what he perceived to be the most attractive Andalites and this is what he came up with.›

Mertil laughed. Menderash sighed. 

‹Pick out a first name for yourself,› Menderash advised. ‹I will take care of everything else. Send me the name and I will be in touch.›

Menderash terminated the connection. 

Marco looked at Ax, who moved to unmute his show. Marco pitched forward and pulled his lower body off the couch. He stood in front of Ax. Ax tried to peek around him, sighed, and paused his show. Ax looked up at him in a way that was unnatural for Andalites, and unusual for them specifically. Marco was rarely taller than Ax, even if Ax was sitting and Marco was standing.

‹Do you need something?› Ax asked. ‹Because I am invested in this storyline.›

Marco caught Ax’s hand in his, took the remote control away from him, and laced the fingers on both their hands together. He studied them, taking in that they’d done this so often and so rarely did they have the same number of digits. Someone had to be wrong for this to be right. 

Marco felt a sharp knife of worry mix with the initial pleasurable reverie that came over Andalites when they did hot hand-on-hand stuff. He had a feeling it wasn’t his own worry, but he couldn’t be sure when they were both Andalites.

‹Are you okay?›

‹I’m okay,› they said at once. Marco laughed. ‹Do I really look that much like Menderash? Is it weird?›

Ax squeezed Marco’s hands, held on, and stood up himself. Now Marco had to look up. Status quo achieved. Ax slowly brought Marco’s right hand up to his own face. Ax ran his cheek against the back of Marco’s hand, unlaced their fingers, and pressed Marco’s palm into his face. He held his own hand over Marco’s. 

Marco felt -- someone felt -- they _both_ felt warm, connected, content. Marco reached his tail out to Ax’s and Ax coiled them together, like twisting metal cabling, strong and supple. Their blades linked. 

‹You are fine-boned and have a slight build, like Menderash did. You are patterned, but it is a very different pattern. To other Andalites, you don’t even look like you could be related. It is like saying that you and Cassie look alike because you are the same size.›

‹We are _not_ the same size,› Marco objected. ‹Cassie’s way buffer than me. Got at least twenty pounds on me. But okay, I guess I feel better.›

‹Good,› Ax said. He let Marco’s right hand go and placed his left palm into Marco’s cheek. Marco leaned into Ax, letting his tail bear most of their weight. Andalite face touching was like being kissed and electrocuted at once. Marco closed his main eyes so he could focus on the waves of tingling pleasure running through him. ‹Because Katherine is throwing herself an intervention party. It is a disaster.›

‹ _Ax_ ,› Marco whined. Ax leaned down and nuzzled his cheek bone into Marco’s face. Heat sparked along his back, all the way up to his face. It was like his spine was a fuse and someone lit the end of his tail on fire. It was like his breath had been knocked out of him.

Ax leaned back, grinned, and pulled himself free of Marco. He curled his lower body back into his side of the couch and turned the TV back on. Marco groaned. Ax might as well have pulled his arm off. Marco wilted into his side of the couch and lay his head down in the crook of his elbow. He pouted for about a minute. Then Ax linked the ends of their tails back together and the spark was back.

Marco picked his pad back up and fiddled with it. He opened an empty document to make a list but realized he didn’t know where to start. ‹How should I pick a name? Is there an Andalite baby name website? A list of government-approved names? Should I just go with Esgarrouth?›

‹You are funny, as always,› Ax deadpanned. ‹The process of choosing a name is involved. I don’t consider myself qualified to advise you on it.›

‹Are you going to make me ask your mom again?›

Ax smiled. ‹You should consider yourself lucky. She is a famous poet, after all.›

Marco shook his head. ‹You’re enjoying this.›

* * *

Forlay looked Marco up and down. He’d been brave enough to let Ax have a run with Noorlin, leaving Marco alone with Forlay. He was already thinking about what he deserved as a reward.

‹So?›

‹ _So?_ It is not as if I can just look at you and make such a decision,› Forlay said. ‹The naming ritual requires months of careful meditation, even after your child is born.›

‹So you didn’t just take your first look at Ax and declare, ‘this one, he looks like an Aximili’?›

‹There would be many more Andalites named ‘bald and dripping,’ if that were the case,› Forlay said dryly.

Marco snorted. ‹What _does_ Aximili mean?›

Forlay turned to her terminal and pulled up an incredibly detailed projection of a starscape on one of the two dozen holo screens. ‹ _Aximil_ is the name of this constellation. It was prominent in the sky before Aximili was born and I used it as a focus for my meditation from the time we began his Wish Flower Ritual.›

‹Does it have, like, mythological significance? Astrological?›

‹No,› Forlay said. ‹Andalites are not superstitious in that way. I did not think I was predicting Aximili’s future when I named him. But during that time, Elfangor had disappeared. I spent many hours of many days looking into the sky and found comfort in the _Aximil_ stars. It was not where Elfangor had been with the fleet.› Forlay locked main eyes with Marco. ‹But it is, coincidentally, where he was. _Aximil_ is the constellation in which your own star system is located.›

Marco took in a breath. ‹You named Ax after the part of the sky that includes Earth?› 

‹A young Andalite’s name is meant to have emotional significance for the child’s parents. It is usually an aspect of nature that has meaning while you form the idea of your child.› She continued, ‹In adulthood, an Andalite is expected to find one’s own meaning in one’s name. There is no stigma associated with renaming oneself at the age of majority. But I think, as an adult, Aximili’s name has unique significance to him.›

‹Well,› Marco said, ‹Pretty sure I’m not going to find a name that uh, prescient for my fake Andalite persona.›

‹Have you connected with anything on homeworld, specifically?›

‹Besides your son?› Marco rarely had to worry for his life when he couldn’t control his mouth -- metaphorical mouth, in this case -- but Forlay gave Marco a look that could start fires. ‹Kidding! I mean, I’m not, but think about how sad Ax would be if you murdered me.›

‹I have always had difficulty making him see reason,› Forlay conceded. She flicked her tail back and forth like an angry cat.

‹I dunno if I’ve connected to anything in particular,› Marco admitted. ‹I’m not really Nature Guy, you know?›

‹I am not surprised,› Forlay said. ‹But even someone like you can find meaning in nature. You seem the type who likes to see himself in other things.›

‹You think I should be ‘Very Reflective Pool’ the Andalite?› Marco joked.

‹I was thinking more parasitic vine,› Forlay said. ‹Or the weed you have to keep excising from your garden because it never stops growing back.›

‹You’re such a kind, generous woman,› Marco remarked.

‹I am just relieved you are spending your time here in morph. Aximili may be used to your constant squawking, but most Andalites cannot tolerate such obnoxious noise.› Marco was about to retort, but the nagging pull of something in the back of his mind made him freeze. He started demorphing. ‹You are so contrary.›

When he was human again, Marco pulled his hair back like he was making a ponytail, holding it up on the back of his head as he paced in circles. Forlay had reminded him of something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I’m annoying because I’m noisy?” he prompted.

‹Among other qualities,› Forlay said. ‹This inability to be still is not appealing, either.›

“Right,” Marco said. He started morphing again; shrinking rapidly, his legs lengthening. His face simultaneously flattened and stretched laterally; his eyes bulged out into muscular, hammerhead-like tendrils. ‹What is this?›

‹Why do you have _that_ morph?› Forlay asked in a tone like he’d brought something dirty into her house.

He briefly entertained playing it cool, like he’d done it on purpose. Forlay didn’t care about his posturing. But she might be caught off guard if he was self-effacing. ‹Because I’m too useless to get a _kafit_ morph,› said Marco. She smiled slightly and if Marco hadn’t been a weird, ugly bird, he’d have pumped his fist in the air. 

He remembered Ax describing it as the “smallest and loudest” of the three bird species. Tobias had remarked that it was fitting. ‹I think I connect to this thing more than anything else.›

‹A _merulan_?› Forlay asked. ‹Odd.› She tilted her head and peered at him. ‹I have never heard of an Andalite morphing a _merulan_.›

‹Yeah, Ax said no one would consider it because they’re pests, but we used to morph pest animals all the time.›

‹Yes,› Forlay said, her ears tilting toward Marco. ‹Of course. You were guerilla fighters. A _kafit_ is a noble creature, but it is not a morph that lends itself to stealth.›

‹I really just couldn’t find any other bird. But yeah, I’m a strategic genius. Obviously.› 

Marco tested out his weird cry -- it sounded something like a cat in heat mixed with an agitated crow. Forlay winced at the sound. It was louder than possibly anything he’d heard on Andalite. He’d actually only found the bird because it had been so loud. 

‹Yeah. I think I’m gonna name myself after this thing. Merulan,› he said, trying it on for size. ‹Does that work?›

Forlay smiled a sly smile. ‹It is certainly unusual, but I suspect you will be an unusual Andalite.›


	24. Chapter 24

AXIMILI

On a normal day, Aximili had difficulty focusing on his work. He had always known he wouldn’t be the type to be satisfied with administrative duties. Chasing Elfangor’s glory hadn’t been Aximili’s only motivation to join the military. He knew of no other path for a youth who couldn’t be still, who needed discipline and structure, and who knew no driving force other than service to his People. 

As a prince, he had found some measure of fulfillment in diplomacy. He at least had some aptitude for it. His new detail required no aptitude. He was tasked with reviewing and redacting the backlog of correspondence from warriors who had been decommissioned to their secondary occupations. It was soporific even on a normal day.

This was not a normal day.

Slouching, Aximili stood at his terminal, letting all but one stalk eye stare blankly up at the transparent ceiling. He had been contemplating going remote and taking his work outside for most of the day. Even that took more motivation than he currently had. Few Andalites worked indoors unless their security clearance forced them to stay inside. That meant that if Aximili stayed at his workstation, he was usually the only one in the office. Unfortunately, usually was not always.

‹I know what day it is,› said Farrith, one of the warriors. Aximili outranked him, but Aximili was not his superior officer. That was the case for every Andalite on this assignment. They all did the same job and answered to the same prince. 

Aximili twisted his free stalk eye to look at Farrith. They were not equals, so Aximili was not required to face him directly. ‹Prince Caladin must be so pleased. You have been working on telling time for quite a while.›

A look of confusion passed over Farrith’s face. The majority of Andalites were still unfamiliar with sarcasm. ‹ _ Prince _ Aximili,› Farrith said, emphasizing the word “prince” in the insincere way Aximili was so used to that it rolled off him like raindrops on a hydrophobic surface. ‹Are you sure that you are fit for duty? You say so many nonsensical things.›

Aximili sighed. He knew the answer, but he didn’t see a way around engaging Farrith. ‹What day is it, Farrith?›

‹You have reached adulthood,› Farrith said, as if proud of his own accomplishment.

Aximili had to focus to remain still. He had already been fixating on the duties he would have to perform later that day. He didn’t want to discuss his coming of age with anyone, let alone an untrustworthy sycophant like Farrith. ‹Yes,› Aximili confirmed reluctantly. He still didn’t look up from the work he was too distracted to actually do. ‹It is now factually incorrect to call me a child prince.›

Farrith shuffled, caught off-guard by Aximili repeating the common insult himself. It was improper, but Aximili relished knocking the hooves out from under warriors like Farrith. It was an unsavory habit he’d probably picked up from Marco.

‹Well,› said Farrith. ‹Good luck with your ceremony.›

Perhaps it was paranoia, but growing up with a notorious mother made Aximili suspicious when other Andalites even obliquely referred to his family. He couldn’t always read their intentions, but he was wary that even innocuous statements could be subtle insults. That possibility had increased now that both he and his mother were controversial figures.

Subtle wasn’t a word Aximili would ever apply to Marco, but Marco was at least brilliantly perceptive. Aximili doubted Marco’s ability to pass for an actual Andalite, but the excessive, delicate social dance that all Andalites constantly performed would at least not be beyond him. He had the opposite worry for Tobias.

Thankfully, Farrith moved on and allowed Aximili to “get back to work.” Since his arrival on homeworld, Marco had complained about how slowly time seemed to pass. Aximili had never completely adjusted to Earth time, but on a day like this one, he could see where Marco was coming from. 

Aximili got very little done by the time he was scheduled to join his father for his secondary occupation. He walked mechanically from Naraya to his parents’ scoop. The ever-present fog seemed to have settled in his mind like it settled in the hollows of the hills. 

‹Aximili!› His father greeted him enthusiastically when he entered, as if they hadn’t seen each other just the day before. He held Aximili’s wrist, linked their blades, and held eye contact. ‹You’re looking very mature today.›

Aximili snorted. He could almost hear Marco making a snide comment about the “dad joke.” ‹Yes, Father. I sprouted overnight. I am suddenly seeing everything with new, adult eyes.›

Noorlin smiled. Aximili’s parents had caught onto sarcasm very quickly. 

Noorlin dismissed half his streams from the news organization front and underground resistance networks and stepped aside so Aximili could bring up the legitimate, above-board communications project he was working on. Apprenticing under Noorlin required careful documentation of Aximili’s activities, since his father was a known resistance collaborator. Perhaps few of his peers and superiors believed that Aximili was still loyal to high command. That doubt only made him want to prove his loyalty more.

Noorlin watched over Aximili’s shoulder while he debugged his Z-space networking protocols. He made quiet suggestions, but mostly he just let Aximili work. Aximili’s father was one of few people who had never underestimated him. 

They worked quietly for some time. Finally, like releasing a steam valve, Aximili said, ‹Do I  _ have _ to do the ritual? I already endlessly contemplate my duty and my place in society.› 

‹Of course we will not force you,› Noorlin said. ‹But this ritual is only for us as a family. You have no one to prove anything to.›

Aximili looked down and drilled the points of his hoof into the densely-packed floor. He didn’t say what he was thinking, which was that he had never been able to prove himself to his mother. Aximili’s feelings must have been transparent, though.

‹You know why your mother is the way she is,› his father said gently.

‹Because of Elfangor,› Aximili said, unable to keep his thought-speak from sounding like he was answering a question he was tired of being asked.

It was rare for Aximili to feel his father’s disappointment, so he turned to make eye contact. Noorlin looked like he was considering his thoughts carefully. ‹When Elfangor was small, he was easily overwhelmed. He didn’t like going into town. He also didn’t like being away from Forlay. Obviously, this created an internal conflict for him. Back then, Forlay was very active in the independent art movement. He would follow your mother to the poets’ society and to art festivals, but he could only tolerate large gatherings for a short time.›

Aximili interrupted. ‹I appreciate stories of Elfangor, but I don’t see what this has to do --› 

In his distracted impatience, Aximili accidentally deleted a whole passage of code. Cold panic jolted through his legs even after the undo command brought his work back. Willing himself calm, he looked through his parents’ violet-tinted skyscreen and focused on the moons above their scoop. He wished he could just run with Tobias, watch television with Marco, and not worry about his responsibilities. Aximili was getting no work done today. 

‹Be patient and you will see where the stream flows,› Noorlin chided. ‹When his emotions overcame him, Elfangor’s solution was to run until he felt more in control. Until he joined the Academy, I would find him sleeping at Hala Fala’s roots more reliably than the moons’ trajectories. After that, he had to learn to temper this instinct, but even into adulthood, he would sometimes disappear to be alone.›

‹I don’t understand. Are you trying to say Elfangor was dishonorable? Everyone knows what he did. He came back.›

‹There is no shame in facing problems in your own way. Even if our culture tells us the paths to honor are limited,› Noorlin said. ‹I don’t have the privilege of knowing Tobias as well as you do, but he is similar to Elfangor in this way, is he not?›

Aximili tilted his head, examining his father’s open expression. ‹He is,› Aximili agreed after a beat of hesitation. ‹That is why he flies.›

‹That is why Forlay writes,› said Noorlin. 

Aximili looked down at his hands. Everyone, even Tobias, was better equipped to relate to his mother than him. ‹I accept that Mother does what she thinks she must. Understanding that brings me no closer to being the son she wants.› Aximili sighed. ‹I am just tired.›

Noorlin sighed as well. ‹Your coming of age ritual is meant to help you find your place in society and in your family. I think going through with it may bring you clarity.› Aximili turned back to the terminal to resume his work, leaving the discussion hanging in the air between them. 

Noorlin turned back to the streams he was monitoring, allowing Aximili to focus on his own work. The respite was temporary. ‹You know,› Noorlin began. Aximili could tell he had been considering what he was about to suggest for a while, but was feigning having just thought of it. ‹Elfangor spent time on Earth before he came of age as well.›

‹I do know,› Aximili said. ‹What is the significance of that?›

‹Elfangor was also reluctant to undergo his coming of age ritual after living on Earth.›

‹Must be something in the water,› Aximili mumbled.

Noorlin looked confused and mildly alarmed. ‹What was in the water?›

Aximili shook his head, another gesture that symbolized the barrier between him and his father. ‹Nothing was in the water,› he said. He reconsidered. ‹No, actually, many things were in the water; we are negotiating clean energy deals with the humans because their planet is perhaps irreversibly polluted. But ‘something in the water’ is an Earth saying.› Noorlin’s face was still furrowed with confusion. ‹Of course, Elfangor always performed his duty -- he did the ritual. Is that the lesson?›

‹He did his ritual,› Noorlin confirmed. ‹But it is permissible for two Andalites who were born in the same spring to do their coming of age rituals together. Elfangor performed his with Elairin. Her support was always a reassurance to him.›

‹Are you saying you want me to perform my coming of age ritual with Tobias?›

‹He is a part of our family. I want him to know his place here, and that we recognize as much of his Andalite identity as he wants to embrace.› Noorlin added gently, ‹You have always been motivated for the sake of others.›

Aximili was quiet while he considered. ‹I will speak with Tobias about it.› 

* * *

Aximili watched the sky as he passed through Tobias’ territory. Tobias had settled on the perimeter of Aximili’s favorite grazing ground, so it wasn’t uncommon for them to, as humans say, run into each other. It felt like a natural extension of their relationship, like how Rachel had moved in with Joey after Monica and Chandler got married.    
  


He didn’t see Tobias in the sky or in any of the trees. On Earth, Tobias’ rusty brown and tawny feathers had disappeared in the mottled yellow light that pierced the drab darkness. On homeworld, he was a spot that stood out against the deeply saturated blues and greens like the color had been sucked out of reality. Had Tobias been on homeworld when he retreated away from civilization, he would have had a much more difficult time hiding. Aximili took a quick drink from the stream, then picked his way carefully toward the center of the forest. 

As the foliage grew deeper, Aximili began to feel energy thrumming through the ground like a pulse. Hala Fala was alive and awake. The ancient tree sang out a heartbeat through its roots. The woods seemed to respond, the lower striation of foliage lighting up the fog with a prismatic glow. The vines and leaves in the canopy almost hummed back the melody, vibrating with renewed vitality.

Aximili chose his path carefully. Walking along the main artery of Hala Fala’s root system, he let the rhythm guide him deeper. The feeling was rare, but familiar. Elfangor hadn’t come home very often when Aximili was a child, but when he had, the forest illuminated with a light that had been out for a long time. Aximili knew Tobias was with Hala Fala.

Aximili hesitated at the heart of the forest, reluctant to interrupt. Even so, he weaved between the thick vines that created a barrier around the perimeter of Hala Fala’s clearing. Tobias was there, his hooves poised among the  _ garibah’ _ s roots, which stretched out like strong hands braced against the ground, holding it together. 

Aximili knew he was intruding, but he was transfixed by the connection between his  _ shorm _ and the guide tree. Tobias’ hand rested lightly at the base of a twisted branch, soft against the rough crevices that furrowed the tree’s skin. Tobias was still, singularly focused on Hala Fala. Aximili understood why Tobias made his mother feel haunted by Elfangor’s memory.

‹Ax-man. I see you there,› Tobias said.

Aximili stepped forward. His legs felt shaky, numb from either shame or regret. ‹I’m sorry. I should have announced my presence.›

Tobias ran his hand up along a deep crack in Hala Fala’s trunk. He stepped back and joined Aximili at the edge of the clearing. ‹Don’t worry about it. I need to demorph soon anyway.›

Tobias said it was fine, but he also ushered Aximili back to the path through the forest. He seemed to understand instinctively that the bond with one’s guide tree was not something Andalites shared. It was to be expected; Tobias was private about many things. But even though Hala Fala was not Aximili’s own guide tree, he knew it well. He had probably visited it more than his own _ garibah _ . 

Elfangor had been more hero than brother. As a child, Aximili had tried to get to know him through Hala Fala. It hadn’t worked. The nobility and importance of Elfangor’s tree had only made Aximili’s feel small. Even if Hala Fala had never spoken to Aximili, he knew that it  _ could _ . His own tree, Nela Luma, was a sapling compared to Hala Fala. It likely wouldn’t even be sentient for another century. His parents had chosen their trees perfectly.

‹Is something wrong?› Tobias asked when their hooves were back on the well-worn path to Tobias’ territory.

‹Not really,› Aximili said. ‹It is my birthday.›

‹What? You didn’t say anything,› Tobias said. ‹Happy birthday.›

‹Thank you,› Aximili said. He was almost glad to hear the traditional Earth greeting, even if it didn’t apply on homeworld.

‹An Andalite year is four Earth years, right? You’d have had a birthday on Earth. Why didn’t you tell us?› 

‹Four Earth years ago, we were very busy,› Aximili said. He didn’t have to elaborate. He saw the realization pass behind Tobias’ eyes. Aximili’s last birthday had been during the final push against the Yeerks. ‹Actually, I marked it appropriately. Andalites see the anniversaries of their births as an opportunity to reflect on their lives and evaluate whether they are serving the People to the best of their ability. At the time, those things were at the forefront of my mind. They still are.›

‹No wonder you guys have such a fun reputation across the galaxy,› Tobias said dryly.

Aximili bumped his tail blade against Tobias’. ‹I recall your maudlin birthday ‘celebrations.’ You are very in touch with your Andalite side.›  

Tobias laughed, but it felt hollow. ‹So do you guys do anything special? Besides the self-reflection?›

‹That is why I came to find you, actually,› Aximili said. ‹This is a significant birthday for me; I have reached the official age of adulthood.›

‹Twenty? Or, I guess, five?› Tobias hesitated, then he said. ‹You know, it’s pretty fucked up that you guys let twelve-year-olds join the military, but you can’t vote until you’re twenty.›

‹My mother is getting to you.›

‹No,› Tobias said sharply. ‹Forlay has nothing to do with how I feel. We all know what war does to kids.›

‹Andalites are different,› Aximili said. ‹We are trained. That is why we train.›

Aximili stopped walking and sighed deeply. Tobias was shrinking. Aximili waited for him to finish his morph, unsure if Tobias was going to fly away or just wanted to have this conversation in his own body. Tobias did take flight, but he circled slowly overhead. He wasn’t running.

Aximili proceeded toward Tobias’ territory. Tobias didn’t speak until they arrived. He settled on a tree and looked down at Aximili. ‹I know you’re not okay. Just because you’re not Jake or -- or  _ me _ doesn’t mean you’re okay.›   
  


‹What happened to me was different,› Aximili said.

‹Don’t forget who you’re talking to,› Tobias said. He didn’t elaborate. There were many possible meanings to the oblique statement. Tobias could be saying he lost more to the war than anyone else, and possibly that was true. Tobias could be saying that Aximili wasn’t even the only person in his family who had lived on Earth and fraternized with humans. Tobias could be saying that he was Aximili’s  _ shorm _ and knew him better than anyone. Maybe he was saying all of those things.   
  
‹This day is significant because I am expected to perform a coming of age ritual with my family,› Aximili said. ‹I expressed reluctance to my father and he suggested that since we are the same age, you could also do the ritual.›

‹Will that make me eligible to vote?› Tobias said.

‹I am… not very familiar with voting requirements. The military is separate from the civilian government.›

‹Dude. I’m joking,› Tobias scoffed. ‹I’m not even an Andalite.›

‹As far as our family is concerned, you are,› Aximili said seriously. ‹If you want to be. My father said.›   
  
Tobias’ hard gaze was familiar, but as well as Aximili knew him, he was no more adept at reading his expressions than Tobias was at Andalite body language. Tobias’ normal body -- his hawk body -- was the only one in which he was comfortable making direct eye contact. They looked into each other’s eyes for longer than Aximili would have with with anyone else.

‹You wouldn’t be asking me if you didn’t want me to,› Tobias concluded.

‹I don’t want to perform the ritual alone.›

Tobias sighed. ‹It’ll just be you and your family?›

‹Yes,› Ax confirmed. ‹And Marco.›

Tobias ruffled his feathers. ‹Why is Marco invited?›

‹I cannot contemplate my duty and my place in society without considering my choice to be with him,› Aximili said. ‹What is going on between the two of you?›

Tobias hunched his shoulders and flared his wings like he was trying to seem bigger to a rival hawk. ‹I don’t trust him. I don’t  _ like _ him.›

Aximili felt his tail brush the ground. He jerked it back up, flicking his blade in an attempt to hide his distress. ‹I don’t know what happened between you, but from my perspective, we all used to be friends. Then you disappeared after the war. Now you can’t stand him.›

‹It’s mutual,› Tobias said, his thought-speak clipped.

‹Is it?›

‹Pretty sure Marco’s not dying to hang out with the guy who broke his neck.›

Aximili went rigid. Chills ran up his legs, causing his fur to stand up slightly. ‹What are you talking about?›

Tobias tilted his head to the side. ‹Wait. He never told you?›

‹No,› Aximili said, his hearts hammering. ‹When? Why?›

‹In Theyfla,› Tobias said. ‹Right before we left.›

‹What?› Aximili shook his head, feeling like his mind was a book and all the pages had been ripped out and shoved back in in a different order. ‹What happened?›

‹I saw him. I saw him… pushing you.›

Aximili’s ankles ached; he shifted his hooves to suppress the instinct to run shooting through his legs. ‹I don’t know what you mean.›

‹I was flying. I looked into your scoop and saw you pull away, but he didn’t stop and you had an argument and -- and  _ he can’t do that _ , Ax. It’s not okay.› Tobias’ thought-speak was quiet. It felt raw in that way that signaled to Aximili they had strayed too close to something Tobias couldn’t talk about. 

‹What did you do?›

Tobias flapped his wings a couple times and let out a short screech. ‹I attacked him in osprey morph. I threatened him. I broke his neck. He demorphed, he was fine. I can’t believe he didn’t snitch.› 

Aximili’s tail dropped to the ground. Tobias’ wings were still flared, his chest still puffed out. The two of them stared at each other silently. 

‹I won’t let him hurt you,› Tobias said finally. ‹You’ve been through enough.›

Aximili shook his head, still trying to grasp what Tobias had told him. ‹I was fine, Tobias. We just needed to talk. I don’t need you to protect me from Marco.› He added, ‹I didn’t know I needed to protect Marco from you.›

‹You don’t know the things he did while you were gone. You only see one side of him.›

‹I am not blind, Tobias,› Aximili said. ‹I neither need nor want you to spy on Marco for me, especially when we are together. I am aware that he is unstable. He is not so good an actor to have hidden that from me. I am an adult --  _ officially _ \-- and I can make my own decisions.›

Tobias’ wings relaxed. He seemed to deflate as his feathers lay flat again. ‹What if he’s not good for you? What if he makes it worse?›

Aximili looked away with his main eyes, but kept his stalk eyes trained on Tobias. ‹I did not always think the person you chose was good for you. I did not interfere. Perhaps I should have.›

‹This isn’t about her,› Tobias snapped. The intensity in his words only confirmed what Aximili had suspected.

‹If you say so,› Aximili said coldly. ‹I would have preferred you talked to me before attempting murder.›

‹I wanted him to know I was serious,› Tobias muttered. ‹I wasn’t really trying to kill him. Marco’s lived through worse.›

Aximili’s hearts beat so loudly, they drowned everything else out. He was drawing air up from his second diaphragm as if he’d run a long distance. ‹I have changed my mind,› Aximili said. ‹I’m not doing the ritual.›

Aximili turned toward the path that led out of the forest. ‹Ax,› Tobias called out to him while he walked away, causing him to stop, but not to turn his eyes. He couldn’t look at his  _ shorm _ . ‹I -- I trusted him. I thought he would keep you safe while I was gone. He let you go, and I didn’t even have a chance to try to stop you. We thought you were dead.›

‹I am not dead,› Aximili said sharply. It would have been so much simpler if he were. ‹It is not Marco’s fault that you were not there. I am tired of both of you attempting to blame each other and yourselves for my mistakes. Please leave me alone for a while.›

Aximili walked back through the forest toward home. Tobias didn’t try to stop him. His hearts still racing, and everything in him willing him not to, Aximili reluctantly turned back toward his parents’ scoop. They were expecting him. He couldn’t just abandon his duties on the single day that his duty was most important.

Possibly for the first time in his life, he was relieved to see his mother rather than his father. Forlay was taking cuttings of  _ illsipar  _ and tea herbs and putting them in her waist pouch. As he grew closer, he could see she was watching him with a stalk eye.

‹I felt your approach,› she said, not looking up from the leaves she was examining. ‹What’s wrong?›

Embarrassingly, Aximili’s breaths were still labored. He had hoped to hide his distress, but the physical signs betrayed him. He inhaled a long, shaking breath and held it.

‹Mother, I don’t want to do my coming of age ritual,› he admitted.

Forlay took her time finishing the delicate incision that severed the  _ illsipar _ leaves from their branch. Carefully, she placed the cluster of leaves in her satchel. She turned to him, meeting his eyes with her own mirror images of them. ‹It is your decision,› she said neutrally.

Aximili couldn’t judge her feelings. He hated being a continual disappointment, but he knew he couldn’t go through with what was expected of him in his current state.

‹I’m sorry,› he said. ‹Truthfully, I know nothing about my place in society. I have doubts about every aspect of my duty. I know I am not doing my best to serve the People, but I don’t know which path is correct. I cannot do the ritual.›

Forlay stepped forward so that Aximili had to look down slightly to maintain eye contact. His mother never looked soft, but he thought he saw acceptance in her subtle smile. She placed her hand around his wrist and linked her small blade in his.

‹Aximili, you were already an adult when you came back from the war,› Forlay said. 

‹Not in the eyes of the People and my peers.›

‹One facet of adulthood is that some opinions may be disregarded,› she said. ‹Wisdom is knowing which ones.›

Aximili sighed. ‹And are you wise?›

‹I answer only to myself. In the end, we shall see if I am wise or not.› Their blades still linked, Forlay brought Aximili’s tail back up to a height appropriate for a prince. Aximili usually only held his tail that high when he was among other military, and he had begun to feel like it was a lie. ‹What I know is truly foolish is the expectation that you should know your place. You have seen enough to know there are cracks in our society. You are hopeful enough to believe that light can be shined into them. You have no place here. Make one for yourself.›

Aximili tilted his head, all eyes on his mother. ‹That is… strangely reassuring.›

Forlay’s smile deepened. ‹Only my son could find reassurance in being told he has no place in society.› With her free hand, she ran her thumb softly over the fur above Aximili’s eye. ‹I will let your father know that you will not be coming tonight. Don’t worry about disappointing him.›

‹Thank you, Mother.›

Briefly, Forlay pulled her tail taut around Aximili’s upper body, then she released him and turned back to her plants.    
  


Aximili walked home, feeling as exhausted by the day’s events as if he had done the ritual. In a way, he almost had, after the conversation with his mother. 

He hadn’t brought food for Marco, so he braced himself for complaints. Instead, upon entering, he found Marco asleep on the couch. He was lying on his stomach, his cheek squished against his datapad, with one arm hanging off the side of the couch so that his knuckles brushed the ground. The light that shone in through the ceiling splashed violet off the hair that lay across his face and shoulders. His face looked soft. The only time his lips weren’t scrunched up or twisted or open was when he was sleeping. Aximili couldn’t resist touching them. 

He was glad he didn’t have to.

Aximili curled his legs up underneath himself. He leaned down and lay his head down across from Marco’s face, close enough to feel his even breaths. Gently, he brushed the tips of his fingers against Marco’s lips. The left corner twitched up just slightly and for a moment, Aximili’s breath caught in his chest. Marco groggily lifted the hand that had been splayed off the couch and caught Aximili’s hand in his. Warmth radiated through him, pushing out the cold that had stirred inside him all day.

Marco’s long eyelashes fluttered open and he peered at Aximili through them. His eyes were still dilated and unfocused, but a smile bloomed in them at the sight of Aximili. Aximili returned it. For now, Marco was unbroken, whole, and most of all, here.

“Y’know,” Marco said, his voice low and thick in his throat, “Other guys would probably think it was creepy how often you watch me sleep.”

‹Then I suppose I’m lucky I’m not interested in other guys.›

Marco wrinkled his nose. “It’s too early for that kind of sincerity, I’ve not had my cup of leftover Cinnabon coffee yet.” 

Marco sat up and stretched, his belly peeking out from below his shirt. Again, Aximili felt an urge to touch him, but this time, he refrained. Marco rubbed at his eye with the heel of his palm and squinted suspiciously at Aximili.

“What’s wrong?”

Aximili shifted his head from the couch to Marco’s lap. Marco raised his eyebrows, but rested his hand gently on Aximili’s cheek.

‹Nothing, right now.›


	25. Chapter 25

MARCO

Twisting his hair idly around his finger, Marco didn’t look up from his datapad as he walked up the gentle incline out of their scoop. Menderash had uploaded another massive amount of data for him to analyze and cross-reference. Over the course of their working together, Menderash had slowly come to trust him with more significant and sensitive information. 

It had been almost a year since they started. The experience on Leera with Captain Samilin had given Marco a place to start. From there, he’d drawn connections to other efforts that had been sabotaged. Other officers who were in the wrong place at the right time. Other missions that had failed for seemingly no reason. Other crews that had been obliterated like the  _ Ascalin  _ and the  _ Intrepid.  _ They had personnel intersections, they had a timeline of key points of failure, they had a list of officers whose classified files Menderash was siphoning to Marco. They hadn’t yet been able to tie the  _ Intrepid _ incident in, but Marco was unspooling the growing web of treachery into his clear, bright line.

Everything was circumstantial so far, but even if they couldn’t prove a direct assassination attempt on Ax, if they could incriminate the faction that opposed him, he’d be much safer to continue rocking the boat.

‹Wait, what is this?› Tobias asked incredulously. 

Marco looked up from his work. Ax and Tobias, both Andalites, were standing outside the scoop. They were pointedly ignoring each other, looking more like strangers waiting for the space bus than friends. As always, it was hard to get a read on Tobias, but Marco could tell that Ax was still feeling chilly toward his best friend. Marco could be petty, but even he wouldn’t have tried to sabotage Ax and Tobias’ relationship, even after what Tobias did to him. Tobias had done a great job of that on his own, though.

Marco dismissed the report he’d been working on, cleared his cached files, disconnected from his VPN, and locked down the pad. “Did Ax trick you into coming or something?” 

‹I haven’t ‘tricked’ anyone,› Ax said, making finger quotes. He was adorable and hilarious, even when he was trying to be serious. ‹Both of you are unfit to go out in public, both of you want to, and both of you exhaust me. I am going to try to help you look like you have even seen an Andalite before. If you cannot learn to tolerate each other, I will no longer be able to do so.›

“Mm,” Marco said, fanning himself. “I like it when you’re forceful.”

‹Ugh,› Tobias groaned, crossing his arms and tensing his shoulders.

“Oh look, Tobias is already struggling with body language. I’m  _ so _ shocked,” Marco drawled. Tobias twitched his tail, showing Marco that his comparatively huge blade was at the ready. Marco lifted one eyebrow. “Try it, genius. Ax is already pissed at you after you  _ told _ on yourself.”

‹ _ Marco, stop antagonizing, _ › Ax demanded. He held his hand out for Marco’s datapad. ‹Morph, please.›

Marco handed the pad to Ax with a flourish and an exaggerated bow. “Of  _ course _ , my prince.”

Ax sighed as Marco began to grow larger and bluer. When the morph was finished, he backed his ass up and parallel parked his Andalite Porsche next to Tobias’ Andalite Ford Escape. Tobias shifted away and shot a glare at him. Marco didn’t rise to his bait, but he did take a moment to compare their morphs side-by-side with a stalk eye. 

Tobias was taller and bigger in general; he was bigger than Ax, who wasn’t a small Andalite himself. He was still smaller than Noorlin, who was the second biggest Andalite Marco had ever seen. Tobias’ coat was a solid color, a deep azure -- boring. In comparison, Marco was almost ethereal with his cyan stripes on midnight blue, and the gem-like translucency he’d managed to take from Sapphire. Even though Tobias’ blade was at least a third bigger than Marco’s, Marco was positive he was the finer specimen. He’d never needed to win a dick-measuring contest to be hot before.

Ax also studied them, his main eyes scanning them up and down with military thoroughness. ‹Tobias, your tail is too low. You are Elfangor’s son and everyone will know it. Furthermore, my mother’s literary… distinction… elevated the status of our family.› Tobias corrected the angle of his tail. ‹Higher. And more arced. That’s good.› Aximili looked down into Marco’s main eyes with cold imperiousness. ‹Marco, your tail is too high.›

‹What? Why? It’s like, the same angle you held yours before you became a prince.› Marco wanted to cross his arms, but that wasn’t an Andalite gesture. Instead, he shifted his weight to lift one hoof and scraped sullenly at the grass. 

Ax glanced down. He kept his expression neutral, but Marco knew he was impressed and a little proud of Marco’s attention to detail.

‹For one, there is no history of military service in  _ your family. _ › 

Menderash had come through with fake relatives and a backstory for Marco. Since Marco had a lot of time on his hands, he’d already done a few private character studies for his false identity. The thing about acting and also about living a lie was believing it yourself. If he was anything, Marco was a good actor and a practiced liar. 

‹For another, you will be perceived as thirdborn. You are young enough that most will not assume your birth was unauthorized, but your social standing is still low,› Ax explained.

Marco puffed out his chest and stiffened his back like an insulted Andalite warrior. ‹That’s bullshit. I have three parents like I’m supposed to.› He mumbled, ‹As if I needed even more parents.›

‹ _ Lower your tail, _ › Ax commanded. Marco stiffened. He lowered his tail. Tobias glanced over and adjusted his tail accordingly. Marco couldn’t tell if he looked smug or that was just the face he’d inherited from Ax’s family’s genes. ‹Both of you need to internalize these postures. Andalites are constantly aware of their positions relative to those around them, both literally and figuratively. Your physical signals should be consistent with your backgrounds and your appearances.›

Marco wanted to argue, but he also wanted to show up Tobias and impress Ax. This was just another acting job; Marco could take direction. And besides, Tobias was already nervously scratching his right back leg with his left back hoof. Showing up Tobias wasn’t really even a question.

‹Stop staring at Tobias, Marco,› Ax ordered.

‹What?› Marco pointed all four eyes at Ax. ‹I’m not.›

‹And don’t do that either,› Ax reprimanded. 

Marco felt his fur bristling along his neck and down his spine. ‹ _ You _ do that sometimes.›

‹Not in public,› Ax said. ‹Focusing all four eyes on someone is intensely intimate. Such an overt display would be like two humans being naked in public.›

‹You hate clothes,› Marco muttered. ‹But fine, I get it, no PDA.›

Ax turned to Tobias. ‹You are still relying too much on instinct. We have an expression for someone who moves too much. We say they are light-hooved. It means they are insecure and act as if they expect to be preyed upon. There are no predators on homeworld. We are trained to be still and project dignity.›

Tobias took in a deep breath, which drew him up even taller. Marco didn’t appreciate that. Marco did appreciate that Tobias was still moving his stalk eyes more like a twitchy mongoose than a noble Andalite or hawk. Ax noticed, but didn’t correct him.

‹Let’s do something you’ll both benefit from,› Ax suggested. ‹Let’s pretend this is your first time meeting.›

‹If only,› said Tobias. Ax’s patience didn’t hold out this time and he shot a glare at Tobias. ‹Sorry.›

Waving a hand theatrically, Ax said, ‹When two Andalites meet for the first time, it is appropriate to face each other directly.› Marco turned toward Tobias. Tobias was slow to cooperate but eventually turned so he and Marco faced each other. 

Ax continued, ‹For someone like Marco --›

‹Merulan,› Marco interrupted. ‹I’m Merulan-Frodlin-Halas. Who’s Marco? I don’t know him.›

Ax sighed. ‹For someone of  _ Merulan’s  _ status, Tobias, you would not be required to look at him with your main eyes.›

‹Oh my god, really?› Marco shrilled. ‹He’s  _ required _ to treat me like dirt?›

Ax ignored his protests. ‹Marco -- I mean  _ Merulan _ , you are required to point your main eyes at his stalk eyes.›

Marco looked sullenly up at Tobias’ stalk eyes. To his credit, Tobias looked at Ax with his main eyes and at Marco with a single stalk eye, but he looked distressed about it. 

‹Does this go for  _ everyone _ Andalite society has so kindly deemed to be above me, through no fault of my own, just birth order and stripes?›

‹Yes,› Ax answered. ‹It is social protocol to observe rank in all situations.›

‹Who do _ I _ get to look down on?›

‹Older thirdborns. Young females.› If Marco had been human, his jaw would have dropped. Ax continued, ‹You can identify warriors by their bearing, correct? You should keep your main eyes below their waists and your stalk eyes should not glance above their shoulders.›

‹Can you even hear yourself?› Marco asked incredulously.

‹I am only telling you how things are,› Ax said. ‹As an Andalite with lower social standing, it is your duty to maintain decorum.› 

‹Menderash doesn’t,› Marco muttered.

‹Do you really think you should emulate Menderash?› Ax said. ‹You have a lot to learn and commit to. Tobias will not be attempting to pass himself off as a real Andalite. No one will expect him to conduct himself perfectly.›

‹Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence,› Tobias said, an edge of hysteria in his thought-speak. He glanced at Marco, then quickly back at Ax. ‹Since I’m not  _ really  _ an Andalite and everyone knows, do I really have to treat people like I’m better than them?›

‹Many social protocols on Earth made me uncomfortable,› Ax said haughtily. ‹I was still able to blend seamlessly into human society.›

Tobias and Marco looked at each other, sharing a joke they couldn’t laugh at. Then Tobias realized he was still auditioning for the role of Snow Queen and looked away. Marco rankled. He felt a familiar pit open up in him, a place where he was small and helpless and alone. He hated nothing more than being ignored. 

‹What is it, Tobias? Hard enough to try to kill me but too soft to treat me like people used to treat you?›

Tobias bristled. The muscles in his haunches bunched up like he was readying to strike. ‹Shut up, Marco.›

‹Or maybe you’re worried that you’re just as bad at being an Andalite as you are at being human?›

‹ _ Marco, _ › Ax snapped.

Marco froze. Ax’s feelings washed over him, filling the hole inside Marco with Ax’s tension, his exasperation, the anxiety he tried to hide. Marco felt how Ax was pulled tight like a string about to snap between himself and Tobias. He felt Ax’s wish that everything would just stop. 

This was why Marco hadn’t told Ax that Tobias had attacked him. Beyond not wanting to let Tobias win, he’d also been protecting Ax from the fact that his best friend was totally batshit. Now that the crazy hawk was out of the bag, Ax’s own balancing act was toppling down. He’d been mitigating the stress of his new job and his disappointment in himself with his own Andalite optimism and coping mechanisms. There was only so much running around with his family could do for him now that he knew even Tobias had betrayed him. Marco couldn’t even take a sick, selfish pleasure in that.

Ax looked between the two of them. The hurt in his eyes and body language was so clear that even Tobias couldn’t have missed it. As if he couldn’t bear the sight of them anymore, Ax looked at the ground with all four eyes. ‹I have been treating you like you are warriors. Warriors are trained to get along for the greater good, despite personal differences. You are not warriors anymore. That is yet another mistake I’ve made.›

They both watched Ax disappear into the dense fog and greenery of the forest. Marco could hardly breathe. He was held in place by how heavy Ax’s burdens weighed on him. As Ax got further away, the pressure receded and Marco moved to follow.

‹Don’t,› Tobias said. 

Marco stopped. As much as he resented and blamed Tobias for so many things that were going wrong, Tobias still had a better feel for what Ax needed. At least, he did when he was clear and wasn’t jumping to murderous conclusions. 

They stood outside the scoop, not looking at each other or speaking. The tension and unease grew between them like an itch in a place you don’t want to scratch in public.

‹You know, Tobias,› Marco began. He tried to lean into his Andalite instincts, tried to swallow Ax’s distant but persistent agitation and his own obnoxious knee-jerk reactions. ‹By definition, I am the literal injured party in this conflict. You can stop acting like I stole the squirrel you were going to have for dinner.› 

Andalites can’t swallow.

Tobias bristled. ‹You can’t  _ make _ me like you.› 

‹No, but we both --› Marco cut off the word before it had a chance to manifest. ‹Ax is important to both of us. If I’m willing to forgive you, you could at least try, since I never broke your neck or anything.›

Tobias still didn’t look at him. ‹We’re not friends.›

‹We were.›

‹We’re not fighting a war now. Like Ax said, we had to get along then. We don’t have a common enemy anymore.›

‹The enemy was inside us all along, Dorothy,› Marco said.

‹That’s not how it goes,› Tobias said sullenly.

‹We may not be fighting a war anymore, but we  _ are _ fighting over Ax and making things harder for him.›

Tobias shifted his hooves. Marco wondered if his legs were numb too. ‹Since when are you the reasonable one?› 

‹Getting laid on the reg really evens out my moods,› Marco said. ‹ _ And _ it does wonders for the skin.›

Tobias held up his hands. ‹Okay, if you want me to try to get along with you, you’ve gotta stop that.›

Marco squinted at Tobias, tilting his head to the side. Looking at him like that, he thought maybe he could still feel Ax, far-off in the back of his mind. Marco sighed. ‹Yeah. I can dial it back.›

Tobias took a step back, like Marco’s compliance had thrown him off balance. ‹I guess if you’re really going to make the effort…› He paused. ‹Why didn’t you tell Ax what happened? You knew he’d get mad at me.›

‹I didn’t want him mad at you. Besides, he’s not even mad at  _ you. _ He’s mad at himself and his people and just in general. Making him mad at you wouldn’t help.›

‹You’ve done a lot of selfish things,› Tobias said. ‹But you sound like you actually care. I almost don’t buy it.›

Marco shrugged. ‹I can do both. You clearly don’t appreciate my wide range of talents.›

‹Your faults are just so distracting.› 

‹Are we calling a truce for Ax?› Marco held out his hand for a handshake.

Tobias looked down at his hand and then back up to him. ‹Truce, but I know Andalites don’t touch each other’s hands, asshole.›

Marco smiled. ‹I’ve Vulcan-kissed your uncle  _ and _ your grandpa.›

Tobias sighed. ‹I’m gonna fly. Are you gonna take care of Ax?›

‹You trust me now?›

‹Don’t push it,› Tobias said, shrinking rapidly, his fur melting into feathers. ‹You’re on probation.›

‹ _ You’re _ the violent offender. We should get you one of those bird bracelets.›

Tobias ignored Marco and flew away, rapidly disappearing into the pink and orange clouds over the forest. Marco took a couple deep breaths, taking a moment to collect himself. He needed to demorph, but he could tell his natural Andalite confidence was walling him off from the anxiety waiting to crash into him. He’d started to understand why Ax didn’t morph human as often anymore. Spending so much time in Andalite morph had begun to make Marco’s human body feel weird and alien again.

Marco demorphed and remorphed, passing through his human in the exhausting pit stop way they had all tried to avoid since the end of the war. He tried to ignore the way he could feel his two heartbeats constrict into one like two pipes joining into a single valve, the pressure increasing, his single heartbeat pumping faster. He didn’t linger there. He went straight back to Andalite, and warm optimism pushed back the cold unease.

Ax had walked into the forest, away from their scoop. He wouldn’t have gone to his usual grazing spot because that was now also Tobias’ territory. He certainly wouldn’t have gone to his parents’. Marco couldn’t really be sure where he’d have gone except that Ax was upset and they were both Andalites. Ax’s constant disquiet was like a third pulse inside him. Marco followed it into the forest like radar, deeper and deeper until he reached a small clearing.

Marco peeked between a curtain of vines, gently pushing them aside to get a better look. Ax stood somberly in front of the oldest, gnarliest tree Marco had ever seen. His fur was dappled with sparkling patches of sunlight and the deep, illuminated fog swirled thick between his hooves and the web of roots reaching out from the tree. 

Marco knew he couldn’t sneak up on Ax; if Ax hadn’t already spotted him, he would still have felt him. But something in Marco had always loved spying on Ax’s private moments. He watched him as long as Ax let him, only stepping forward when Ax pointed a stalk eye toward him. 

‹Is this your guide tree?› Marco stayed where he was at the edge of the clearing. He assumed that, like all things, there were strict protocols about what you could do around someone’s special tree friend.

‹No,› Ax said, touching the tree’s trunk. ‹This is Hala Fala. It is Elfangor’s guide tree. Or… I suppose it is actually Tobias’ now.›

‹Don’t you have your own?› Marco asked. ‹Why talk to Tobias’ tree?›

Marco felt Ax’s turbulent emotions like a low boil under his skin. ‹Habit,› he said simply. 

‹Tobias and I talked,› Marco said. 

Ax didn’t respond directly. Instead he brushed past Marco, out of the clearing. When Marco stared blankly and didn’t follow, Ax hooked their tail blades together and pulled Marco along. Marco followed, trying to monitor Ax’s emotions like constantly checking a pulse. Anger, sadness, emptiness, guilt, fear, resentment. It all rolled in and out like rapidly cycling tides.

‹Are you not going to talk to me?› Marco asked finally.

‹I have nothing to say.›

‹I can tell that you do.›

Ax narrowed his eyes. His rapidly flicking tail betrayed his mood as effectively as a frown. ‹I am frustrated that you have spent our entire relationship blocking out our bond, but now that you have an Andalite morph, you are using it to change our dynamic.›

‹I’ve never done that on purpose,› Marco said.

‹But you are doing this on purpose.›

‹What, trying to understand you? Okay, give me a second to demorph, put my foot in my mouth, and make you more upset.› Ax didn’t respond. ‹Do Andalites have a saying for that? Is it ‘put my hoof in my hoof’?›

Ax stared at Marco, unamused. 

‹You were picking on me back there,› Marco pointed out.

‹I wasn’t.›

‹Were too.›

Ax’s tail shot out like a snake. He locked the ends of their tails together, sending a jolt up Marco’s spine that bordered both on pain and pleasure. Marco locked all four eyes with Ax’s. 

‹You think you already know everything about my culture,› Ax said, his thought-speak low and almost hypnotic. Ax yanked Marco’s tail, forcing him to step back and nearly collide with Ax. ‹I was just showing you that you actually know so little that the very body you created is inherently disadvantaged.›

Marco twisted his upper body until his tail strained against Ax’s so he could press their chests together. ‹What, I can’t handle a challenge? Look at me. You think I regret being this hot?› Ax was already looking at him. Marco smiled because he could feel Ax’s low level irritation pierced with a hot knife of attraction. ‹You’re welcome to keep trying to put me in my place.› 

Ax ran the backs of his fingers lightly along Marco’s cheek. The soft touch might as well have been hands all over his human body. Ax unfurled their tails only to re-entwine them in that mind-numbing way that emptied Marco’s brain of everything but the need to be closer. 

Marco reached for Ax’s face, but Ax grasped both his hands before he got there. Marco strained against him with his even punier Andalite arms. The struggle was mostly for show. Ax holding his oversensitive Andalite hands in place was satisfying for now.

Ax leaned forward so their faces almost touched, rustling Marco’s fur with his breath. Ax locked their fingers together, and that drove a shock up Marco’s arms and down his spine, reflexively tightening their tails together.

‹You said you spoke to Tobias?›

‹God, you’re a tease.› Marco tried to pull his hands away for real this time, but when they were both Andalites, Ax was stronger.

‹Isn’t this how  _ you _ do it?› Ax said, a mean streak of amusement sliding between them. Ax leaned forward and rubbed their cheeks together and they both drew in sharp, synchronized breaths. An ache crawled up Marco’s spine from the base of his tail. 

Marco twisted his tail more tightly around Ax’s. If Ax’s Andalite arms were stronger than Marco’s, his tail most certainly was.  But Ax acquiesced leverage to Marco the same way he let Marco hold him down when they were both human.

‹If you wanna talk about Tobias while we make out, you know I’m down for anything.› 

Ax snorted lightly, his breath sending a shiver through Marco’s fur. ‹What was said?›

‹Mostly that you’re obviously the only reason either of us are here,› Marco said. ‹I might have convinced him there’s enough of you to go around.›

‹You don’t mind sharing me?›

Marco smiled. ‹Have I ever?›

‹You can be greedy about what’s yours.›

Marco sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and sank into the fire between them. 

* * *

Marco laid his datapad face down on his chest and pressed his thumb into his eyelid, between his right eyeball and orbital bone. He groaned at the temporary relief that gave him from the nail that was being driven slowly into his skull.

Through the painful haze, he focused on the security report he’d just thrown back like taking a shot. Level four classification, log of fleet movements during the Anati conflict. The records from this period were weird for a few reasons. The first was that he’d occasionally run into a reference to the former Visser One that knotted his stomach. For another, the reports were disjointed like even the classified, internal documents had been clumsily redacted. Since they were thought-records, they felt like trying to remember a night where you eventually ended up blackout drunk. Finally, for weeks he’d been noticing sparse references to a facility with encrypted coordinates that seemed to point to a place in the Untouched Wilds. If Ax was to be believed, such a facility shouldn’t exist.  

Massaging his temple, Marco flagged the document to scour it for encryptions when his head wasn’t hammering. When he’d first started, he’d have forwarded this one to Menderash. Now he’d been compiling the data for so long, he’d figured out Menderash’s decryption programs himself. They weren’t much different from the software Ax had written when they were kids to let them play  _ EverQuest _ without a subscription. They’d used the same program to infiltrate the NSA, but Marco had personally used it to troll elves and cat-people way more.

Marco groaned and debated whether he was going to slam another report or keep catching up on the  _ WrestleMania _ he’d missed during the war and his acting career. He leaned over Ax’s back, reaching for the remote. Ax gave Marco a look and snatched the remote from between them on the couch.

“You’ve been watching  _ Passions  _ since before I woke up. I’m almost done with the feud between The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin,” Marco protested.

Ax lowered his eyelids and said snobbishly, ‹The plot twists on  _ Passions _ are much more interesting.›

“I should never have told you that wrestling is scripted,” Marco said with a smirk.

‹There is not much difference in the content aside from the  _ WWE  _ storylines being far simpler.›

“The difference is the  _ sportsmanship, _ ” Marco sneered. “And the muscles to clothes ratio. Anyway Ax, your favorite TV character is  _ Mr. Clean. _ ”  

Marco lunged for the remote and again Ax held it out of his reach. Marco pursed his lips and Ax smiled down at him.

‹You are working too hard,› Ax said.

“Email my mom -- I’ve never gotten that on my report card,” Marco said. 

Ax gently pulled the datapad from Marco’s hand. ‹When you want to stop this, I can tell Menderash to stop harassing you. He has been committing treason for years, but you don’t have to chase him into the Wilds.›

Marco lifted a brow. “Are you reading my reports?”

Ax glanced down at the pad. ‹What? No. I want nothing to do with Menderash’s grudge. I would prefer you didn’t enable him either.›

“Ax, he doesn’t  _ need _ enabling. But in case you haven’t noticed, your culture kind of sucks? And if I’m looking at what I think I’m looking at, it’s bigger than the casual xenophobia and  _ eugenics _ ,” Marco hissed. “It’s bigger than the fact that they  _ probably _ tried to assassinate you and  _ definitely _ tried to raze Earth, although from where I’m sitting, those things were kinda offensive.”

Ax held up a hand. ‹Stop. I don’t want to know.›

Marco rolled his eyes. “Sure. You definitely have nothing to do with the fact that Earth isn’t a lifeless rock right now. You’re  _ totally _ not involved.”

‹I’m not. You, my family, and my mother’s agents can all be banished. No one listens to me.›

“I love that you can say that and deny that anything is wrong in the same breath with apparently no cognitive dissonance.” Marco crossed his arms and reclined across Ax’s back. “As much as I like to say ‘I told you so,’ I am  _ not _ down with having anyone else taken from me. So no, Menderash isn’t making me do anything, and if he’s crazy, we’re crazy together. I believe it. I’m gonna find the people who did this to you and I’m going to make them regret it, even if it’s the president of Andalite.”

Ax couldn’t help but smile. He’d always been attracted to righteous indignance. ‹That was a decent speech. I may have more confidence in your ability to take down my government if you knew we do not have a president.›

“Emperor, then.” Marco watched in satisfaction as Ax recoiled.

‹We are  _ not _ an empire.›

“Yeah? Tell me about the Andalite bases on Anati. And the colonies on Leera and Ssstram. Are they nice? Nicer than how the Yeerks left it? Nicer than the condition those people live in now? Are they vacation destinations like Earth?” Marco tilted his head back and peered seriously up at Ax, his voice low in his chest. “Speaking of, do you know about the base your people are trying to get Caysath to push through the UN?”

‹ _ Marco,›  _ Ax said in a tone somewhere between scolding and desperation. ‹Take a break. At least take a breath.›

“Do you have something in mind if we’re at an impasse on this soap opera versus pro wrestling debate?” 

‹ _ General Hospital?  _ Like  _ WrestleMania,  _ people get hurt on that one.› Marco rolled his eyes and shook his head. Ax looked back down at Marco’s pad, still in his hands. Marco could see the cogs turning as he had a debate with himself. Finally, he asked, ‹Would you like to go into town with me to view a holoprogram?›

Marco raised an eyebrow. “You guys have movies? Your  _ own _ movies?”

‹Of course. Something like that, anyway.›

“Wait.” Marco lifted  _ both _ eyebrows. “Are you gonna take me into town  _ as an Andalite?› _

‹It would be difficult for you to enjoy a holoprogram if you were stowing away on my body as a flea.› 

Marco rolled over onto his stomach and buried his chin into the fur of Ax’s arm. He was grinning so hard his face hurt. “I thought you were never gonna ask.”


	26. Chapter 26

AXIMILI

Aximili had entertained fantasies of taking Marco to Naraya even before they were “together.” Marco had acted as escort for Aximili among the humans more than any of his other human friends, even Tobias. Marco had been the cipher through which Aximili had come to understand human culture. That exchange wasn’t just a foundation of their relationship; at this point, it was a foundation of Aximili’s whole identity and sense of self-worth. He had failed at everything besides his alliance with humans. Of course Aximili had considered the corollary, of sharing the things he loved about homeworld with Marco. But pretending to be an Andalite was much more difficult and dangerous for Marco. And there were fewer things that Aximili loved now that he was home.

Marco practically romped on their way to the city. His excitement in combination with his smaller size made him look like a much younger Andalite. Aximili knew his enthusiasm was largely because he had rarely left their scoop. Aximili felt a pang of guilt for keeping him so sequestered. He had only been protecting him, but the last thing Aximili wanted was for Marco to feel like he was being held hostage.

Marco slowed and let Aximili catch up to him. ‹What’s wrong?› he asked.

Aximili shook his head and focused on allowing himself to feel Marco’s giddy anticipation through their link. 

During the war, Marco had become adept at closing himself off, distancing himself, turning off his sympathy for others. Something instinctive in him had shut him off from intercepting Aximili’s emotions through the bond. At the same time, he had freely broadcast his own turbulent emotions, sometimes even more loudly than his joking and complaining. Aximili had used that to track Marco’s well-being and the trajectory of his mental health, even as Marco insisted the bond was useless because he couldn’t master it.

After the war, the way Marco’s actions never matched his emotions began to trouble Aximili. It came to the point that Aximili had to protect himself against Marco’s emotions as well or feel like Marco was constantly dishonest. Since his recovery from The One’s grasp, Aximili had continued this pattern. Marco had become more open. He was actually trying, for once. But now Aximili was the broken one and walling himself off from Marco’s overwhelming feelings was an act of self-preservation.

Andalites were more telepathically sensitive than humans. Marco had been blocking their link reflexively, but in his Andalite morph, Marco was, for the most part, unable to shut Aximili out. On the other side of the blade, Aximili now had to make a concerted effort to allow himself to receive signals from Marco. He was safer to connect with, mentally, when he was an Andalite. His moods were more stable, more predictable. Generally, he only morphed Andalite to have fun or attempt to be emotionally manipulative, and both of those states were easier than the self-centered darkness he’d inhabited for years. 

Aximili had to remind himself that he could share positive feelings with Marco and it would help them both.

Marco threaded their fingers together, sending gentle chills up Aximili’s arm like a sigh. ‹How long can we do this until I have to attempt some discretion?› Marco lay his head on Aximili’s shoulder.

Aximili nuzzled his face into the soft fur at the top of Marco’s head. ‹I will let you know.›

Aximili expected it would be a power struggle to extricate himself from Marco’s overt affection. Either Marco sensed Aximili’s reluctant build up to forcing him away, or he simply couldn’t fight his instinct to bound ahead as they approached the city. 

Closer to the ocean, the fog was thicker. It only took two leaps for Marco to disappear into it. Aximili was gripped with irrational panic that immediately waned to embarrassment when Marco came bouncing back to his side, grinning. Aximili hadn’t thought to mention that most adult Andalites rarely hop around like children their first time grazing outside their parents’ territory, but he realized that may as well have been the experience Marco was having.

‹We are nearly there,› Aximili said. ‹You may wish to compose yourself.›

‹Have I ever  _ wanted  _ to compose myself?› 

Marco cleared his throat in thought-speak. Aximili shook his head. Marco straightened his shoulders, planted his hooves, and lowered his tail to exactly the angle Aximili had instructed him in his lesson alongside Tobias. Aximili was suddenly reminded of Marco’s first few acting assignments. He would spend hours upside down on the couch, chewing on a pencil and creasing his script. Then he’d ask Aximili to do a read with him, hand Aximili the script, and something would come over him. He became someone else. There were those who said that Marco was only famous because he saved the world and that he could never have had an acting career otherwise. He made those jokes himself in late night interviews. But Aximili had only ever seen him take one other thing so seriously, and back then it had been a matter of life and death. 

Aximili held back to watch Marco saunter ahead. He really did have the casual, flowing gait of a civilian down. As low-slung as his tail was, it swayed with the motion of his back legs. Aximili watched for long enough that Marco began to disappear into the fog again.

Aximili trotted to catch up. Marco looked at him keenly, then let his gaze fall. Main eyes below Aximili’s waist, stalk eyes below his shoulders. Aximili shifted his hooves uncomfortably.

‹Don’t do that,› he said. 

‹What do you mean, Prince Aximili?› Marco said in an affected tone. ‹You’re certainly a warrior, aren’t you? I am only observing the propriety that is my duty as a lowly thirdborn.›

He was attractive, but he was still Marco. 

‹You are the son of close family friends. We have been familiar since childhood,› Aximili recited Merulan-Frodlin-Halas’ backstory. It was true that his mother had shared many art exhibits with the triad of Andalites who had agreed to pose as Marco’s parents. It was untrue that Aximili knew them; they were active in the resistance and members of Forlay’s network. As many ways as she had failed as a parent, his mother had largely shielded Aximili from her treachery in his childhood.

Marco looked up at Aximili, some mixture of triumph and mischief behind his sea green eyes. ‹Isn’t that a bit indiscreet?›

‹I suspect you will be indiscreet regardless. I would rather not feel awkward in the meantime,› Aximili said.

‹Uh huh,› Marco said. ‹In other words, you don’t even believe your people’s own BS, but you wanted to teach me a lesson, and in the end, you don’t have the balls to act on it either.›

‹Andalites do not have testes,› Aximili said privately as they passed over the first bridge into the city. 

‹You know, I’ve noticed,› Marco whispered back in a tone like he was implying something in addition to the literal statement. 

He went quiet when he noticed the dozens of stalk eyes peering at them. For Aximili, this was a daily annoyance, something he had to deal with more than ever since having come home from a second catastrophe. The People’s view of him was still much more favorable than the military’s and in Naraya, he was a hometown hero who had ended the war, reformed the military, and ushered in a new era of intergalactic diplomacy. He had once reveled in the recognition, but now he felt like a fraud and a tool. The People didn’t know he was merely a figurehead, a powerless face for the military to hide behind while fighting a shadow war under their noses. 

But for Marco, the attention was oxygen after he’d been living in a vacuum. Aximili felt a wave of exuberance roll over him, a sudden incoming tide deep enough to drown under. It didn’t matter to Marco whether people were staring at him because he was attractive, because the sight of a thirdborn was something you couldn’t look away from like a criminal shorn hairless, or if it was simply because he was with Aximili, who usually traveled alone or with warrior accompaniment. For Marco, the only thing that mattered was they were looking at him.

Most military personnel would be on the corresponding island district where Aximili performed his “day job.” But like Aximili, they were free to move as they pleased. Aximili let his gaze linger on the warriors who held their tails high, even off-duty. He also studied the civilians. Many pretended to be engrossed in something on their handheld computers, sneaking the occasional glance at Prince Aximili and the offensively beautiful thirdborn who was behaving all too familiarly with him. Some were having conversations, staring openly with stalk eyes. 

It had taken some time on Earth for Aximili to understand things like paparazzi and tabloids and celebrity gossip blogs. After the war, Marco had fixated on these things to the point of obsession. Of course, Aximili had to balance his own notoriety with his privacy as well, but on Earth, Marco had to control “his image.” Some aspects of Marco’s public image seemed trivial to Aximili. Surely if Marco had saved the world, the public wouldn’t care that he had no sexual preference more specific than “yes please” or that his genitals were slightly atypical for a human male. But Marco seemed to think those facts might jeopardize his “broad public appeal.” In these cases, it was just easier for Aximili to do what he said rather than argue.

The official news outlets on homeworld were too dignified to report on gossip and the personal affairs of prominent people. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be speculation about Marco’s relationship to Aximili all over the civilian net. Aximili wondered if his mother hadn’t already ghostwritten a character piece about “Merulan-Frodlin-Halas” to publish as soon as he made his debut. She hated to miss a breaking story and, after all, she had already been tipped off.

Somehow Marco kept his tail at a suitable height and his eyes respectfully lowered to everyone but Aximili. But nothing could be more clear than the fact that he could barely contain himself. He was soaking up the attention. The part of him that lived for the performance radiated like an almost-perceptible glow. 

‹I want the full tour, Prince Aximili,› he said, grinning. 

It wasn’t the first time Marco had been to Naraya, but it was their first time there together. Marco had been living with Aximili for nearly six weeks -- the equivalent of two months on Earth. By the time he had spent equal time on Earth, Aximili had been to the mall, to the movies, to school, and to several of his friends’ family homes. He couldn’t help but feel he owed this to Marco. 

Aximili acted as tour guide to his hometown. For the first time, Marco seemed more than momentarily impressed with homeworld. He hung onto Aximili’s every word, he asked questions, he seemed interested in things he’d never been interested in before, like plants and art and politics. When they crossed the fourth bridge into a recreational district, Aximili realized what Marco was doing.

Before Aximili had gotten a television in his Earth scoop, he’d been abysmally bored. He had also been far less adept at understanding human culture before he had learned about human norms from their various fictional, non-fictional, and commercial programming. Through equal parts boredom and miscommunication, Aximili had made a game for himself of how flirtatious he could become with Marco without the humans knowing. He had not anticipated how far Marco would be willing to play along until the game was impossible to stop playing.

In the early stages, Aximili had relegated his overtures to subtle gestures, to body language that was imperceptible to humans, and to deferring to Marco as his guide to human culture. Aximili watched those actions mirrored back to him now. Marco stood close to him -- not so close to be scandalous in public, but closer than anyone would stand to someone who was not family or a subordinate. Marco angled his shoulders toward Aximili, only slightly, in a way that could almost be interpreted as casual or unconscious. Marco tilted his head at an angle that showed he was interested and listening, but also faintly exposed his throat. His eyes and ears adjusted slowly and softly, showing that he was more focused on Aximili than his surroundings.

It had taken nearly two Earth years for any of the humans to pick up on the artful, delicate nature of Andalite flirtation. Aximili had always wondered if Marco knew how early it had started and how differently Aximili had behaved toward him. Any doubt was gone now. Marco had picked up on all of it. Now he was playing it back to Aximili in a wry reprise. He had obviously planned this situation. He was employing these actions in public, his gestures controlled enough to be proper, but clear enough that there could be no question to anyone who saw. In a way, this was the ultimate expression that Marco understood the delicate dance Andalites performed with each other, the coy push and pull of what was left unstated. The feint that turned into a strike.

Aximili wouldn’t admit to having lost at his own game but he’d certainly been put in check.

‹I think we’re collecting a caravan,› Marco whispered. He feigned concern, but he may as well have been a flower that had turned to face the suns. 

Aximili had also noticed that they were being followed. It wasn’t the first time this had happened to him. He usually found it profoundly annoying to realize the same Andalites just happened to be going the same places he was, suddenly grew interested in whatever was closest to them when he stopped, and just happened to continue on when he did. Andalites as a whole were a subtle people, but gawkers were almost as unsubtle on homeworld as they were on Earth.

For once, in part because he was distracted by Marco and in part because he was allowing himself to enjoy it through Marco, the throng of followers didn’t bother Aximili. Even with Marco doing the gestural equivalent of marking his territory, he didn’t mind. Most Andalites were private about their personal relationships, but as long as certain lines of decorum weren’t crossed, it was not offensive to obviously be in a relationship. If he couldn’t have that as a human, Marco was going to take it as an Andalite. 

Although Aximili had accepted the absolute necessity of keeping their relationship a secret more easily than Marco, that didn’t mean the obligation hadn’t worn on him. Unlike Marco, Aximili had always known that he didn’t want their relationship to be secondary to something that could be out in the open because it was acceptable. Unlike Marco, Aximili’s time spent on Earth had alienated him even further from his people. Unlike Marco, Aximili couldn’t easily connect with other people, not for one night and not for a PR relationship. Marco had done all those things and he still hated the secret. Aximili understood. Aximili felt Marco’s glee that they were in public, they were brazenly together, and everyone was noticing. Aximili felt his own satisfaction as well.

Marco stopped in the middle of the bridge they were crossing to look over the edge. As the islands got further out to sea, the fog got thicker and higher, and so did the bridges. The fog swirled in synchronicity with the currents, creating cloud rivers that flowed under the bridges and dispersed as mist over the islands. 

The bridges were all busy walkways. To stop while crossing contradicted city custom. Naraya had several ideal points from which to observe its natural beauty. Forcing others to walk around you while you idly viewed scenes that could be better appreciated elsewhere was considered selfish and inconsiderate. If everyone stopped in the middle of the bridges, choke points would form and no one would be able to reach their destinations. Most local residents were patient when the occasional tourist stopped, but they didn’t have to be.

Aximili was about to tell Marco not to loiter. Before he could, a warrior named Halathon approached Marco. He was the same age as Aximili, which meant he had just finished his term at the Academy. He had never been on official assignment. This demographic could go one of two ways: some were in awe of Aximili for, from the Andalite perspective, holding down the Earth front completely on his own. More of them, however, resented Aximili for robbing them of their own chance at glory.

Aximili watched Marco turn a stalk eye toward Halathon. As the person of lower status, it was Marco’s responsibility to recognize when he was in the way and move. But on Earth, Marco would force people to run into him rather than move for them. Before Aximili could intervene, Marco planted his hooves, still looking directly at Halathon’s waist. He didn’t technically violate protocol, but Marco was making sure his Andalite morph was provocative in more than one way. 

Halathon shouldered his bulky lower body into Marco’s shorter, slimmer frame. He was rude to shove, but not technically out of line. Marco should have moved. Marco’s hooves ground into the bridge and he sprang back. The fur on both sets of his shoulders bristled. Aximili held his breath, expecting Marco to escalate the situation. Marco widened his stance aggressively and twitched his tail blade, but, surprisingly, kept his tail low and his eyes down. 

Aximili stepped up between Marco and Halathon. The lower-ranking Andalite met Aximili’s eyes -- directly disrespecting the line of command -- Aximili lifted his tail in response. Aximili had become used to insubordination, but that didn’t make it less offensive. ‹Move along, Halathon,› Aximili said. 

‹Prince Aximili,› he said. ‹Where is your friend from that he doesn’t know how to cross a bridge?›

Marco’s outrage bubbled under Aximili’s skin, simmering away at what little patience Aximili had himself. Marco could rarely control his impulses when he was about to boil over. He looked up at Aximili with his main eyes -- a move that was gratuitous when he could have turned his stalk eyes. 

‹Where is  _ this guy _ from? Unless he lives in the Andalite White House, you should shut him the fuck down.› Aximili could tell Marco was speaking in private thought-speak. Halathon probably could as well.

Halathon looked down at Marco then back to Aximili’s face, obviously coming to conclusions about their personal association. His expression was difficult to interpret, but was what Aximili had expected. Halathon seemed to feel vague distaste, but he was also unsurprised.

‹He is clearly from a place where rank is more closely attended to,› Aximili answered Halathon in an arch tone.

Halathon’s chest fur ruffled, but he did look away. He understood that it was within Aximili’s right to report him to his superior for defiance. He also understood that it was within Aximili’s right to challenge him to a tail fight. As little respect as Aximili sometimes got, there was always an unspoken acknowledgement that he had more battle experience than perhaps only the most seasoned veterans. Most of the war hadn’t been fought with blades.

‹Don’t forget to show your  _ friend _ \--› Andalites didn’t do the useful Earth gesture known as “air-quotes,” but Aximili thought if Halathon knew it, he would have performed it. Halathon looked back down at Marco, who kept his main eyes steady on Aximili’s face and a single stalk eye carefully fixated below Halathon’s shoulders. ‹-- the Earth attractions in Rec District Three.›

‹Thank you for the advice,› Aximili said coldly. It was not advice. Aximili was aware that most military personnel viewed the enjoyment of human morphs as a debasement. The growing part of the city accommodating that form of entertainment was seen as a dilution of Andalite culture. Aximili had unintentionally strengthened a traditionalist movement that radically opposed everything he cared about. His mother finally had something to be proud of.

Halathon finally walked stiffly past them, holding his tail a few degrees too high. Marco relaxed, but still glared at the back of the retreating warrior. Other Andalites started moving again, now that there was nothing to spectate. Aximili led Marco back into the current of pedestrians.

Aximili braced himself for the diatribe Marco had uncharacteristically held back. Marco took a deep breath. ‹When’s the movie?› he asked. 

Aximili peered at Marco with a skeptical stalk eye. ‹Whenever we want.› They continued on in heavy silence. ‹You aren’t going to say anything?›

‹Me? Say anything?› Marco brushed his fingers gently down his own face. Aximili nearly stumbled over his own hooves at the suggestive motion. ‹Surely commenting on what a douchebag that guy was would not befit my humble station.›

‹Of course,› Aximili said. His shoulders relaxed as some of the tension drained out of him.

‹And pointing out the fact that Andalite social structure as a whole is totally fucked would also be out of line,› Marco said.

‹Absolutely out of line.›

‹Then no, I have nothing to say about how regular people here are institutionally oppressed by maniacal military authority,› Marco said. 

Aximili shook his head. ‹That’s a relief. You’re usually so opinionated.›

Marco’s tone sobered. ‹Why are you still doing this, Ax?›

Aximili looked seriously at Marco. They had slowed nearly to a stop alongside a thought poetry gallery. It was difficult to concentrate through the imagery of a leaf swept away in the current of a river, evoking the feeling of acquiescence to the force of something vast and uncontrollable.

‹I have status and a position of authority. I cannot just withdraw because I failed or because I disagree with how things are done. It is my duty to attempt to use what I have to do what is right.›

‹What if you’re a cog in a machine that can’t do the right thing by design?›

‹Then this is how  _ I’m _ designed,› Aximili said. ‹But I do not believe that. I know that individuals have the power to change the system for the better. I have seen it.›

‹Wow. Huh,› Marco said.

‹What?›

‹With an Andalite brain, I can  _ almost _ buy that.› Marco looked down at a crystal emitting another poem. This one was about duty, represented by the luminescent glow seeping out of a dying mushroom into the ground. ‹Why are all these psychic orb things so depressing?›

‹An Andalite wouldn’t find them depressing,› Aximili said. ‹These poems are about acceptance and understanding that even if you do nothing, you have a place and a purpose that is futile to resist.›

‹Take me to the movie, Seven of Nine,› Marco muttered. ‹I’m tired of being stared at.›

Aximili had been leading them slowly to the holodome he had reserved for them. He tried not to think about the fact that he was only able to make that reservation as a member of the military and that civilians could access it only on a first-come-first-serve basis, and only then if no military personnel superseded them. 

There was a holodome on each island district. The dome in the art district was the one his father had always brought him to, so it was the one Aximili preferred. Aximili had never had the patience to sit through his mother’s poetry exhibitions, and Noorlin had to supervise him throughout her political activities. Aximili had probably seen every holoprogram in the database ten times. 

He hadn’t been back since he had gotten home, but the dome was still as it was. Its opaque surface scintillated gentle splashes of indigo and ultraviolet. Aximili let Marco watch the slowly shifting clouds of color for a moment. So far, he hadn’t tired of watching Marco actually appreciate things on homeworld. He could have grown accustomed to it, were it not increasingly clear that Marco’s perspective as an outsider was actually setting everything even further askew for  _ him _ . Since he had come back from Earth, Aximili had seen homeworld in a new light. Bringing a piece of his Earth life to homeworld had only magnified that feeling.

Aximili engaged the entrance, watching Marco’s stalk eyes shift to take in the transparency of the dome inside, dotted with constellations of infinitesimal holographic projectors. Aximili stood in front of the library station, browsing through the programs, even though he already had one in mind. Only a few had been added in the two years since he had left for the Academy.

‹I know you guys are claustrophobic and I know this is probably Stockholm Syndrome, but I’m actually really starting to like how all your buildings are made of one-way glass,› Marco commented. 

Aximili smiled to himself. He didn’t turn, still browsing through the nostalgic preview slides. ‹Am I holding you captive, now?›

Marco brushed up alongside him, putting their bodies into contact from shoulder to flank. Aximili looked down at Marco’s elegant Andalite features, purposely designed to be magnetic, his keen turquoise eyes nearly glowing. ‹Maybe I’d like that,› he said.

Aximili tilted his head and looked away playfully. ‹Oh? We could have stayed home, then? I will make note of that, ‘Marco would rather be confined, no need to expose him to the public.’›

‹Hah hah,› Marco said flatly. He grabbed one of Aximili’s hands, ran his cheekbone over Aximili’s knuckles, and twisted his tail once around Aximili’s. ‹How do Andalites feel about making out in the movie theater?›

‹Strongly negative,› Aximili said, and the smile in Marco’s eyes grew. ‹But I, personally, feel like you may want to see what we are watching first.›

‹Dunno, I’m pretty talented. Remember  _ Angela’s Ashes? _ ›

‹’Talented.’ An interesting word choice when you mean ‘depraved.’ And you say Andalites have a tendency toward euphemism.› 

Aware Marco would continue to distract him, Aximili queued up the holoprogram. He nudged Marco to the center of the dome. The holographic projectors initiated. The small dome around them shimmered into the expansive interior of the bridge of a Dome ship. The bridge crew were at battle stations. The captain and his first officer stood at the center tactical display, which had appeared right next to Aximili and Marco.

‹ _ Ax _ ,› Marco said, urgency in his thought-speak. ‹Andalites have  _ the holodeck _ and you didn’t  _ tell me? _ ›

‹It is not the holodeck,› Aximili said. While he explained, Marco stuck his hand through the projection of Captain-Prince Galanor. ‹As you can see, our holoprograms are not interactive. We do not insert ourselves into stories for entertainment.›

‹Yeah, because you’re boring.› Marco circled around to the other side of First Officer Herrith and examined the sensors over his shoulder. He was looking at a map that displayed the three closest star systems, with the Andalite fleet marked in blue and the Yeerk forces marked in red. 

Captain-Prince Galanor was one of the most decorated War-Princes, in no small part because of what had occurred during the mission they were watching. He discussed fleet movements around the Mak System and recently updated Yeerk cruisers. Aximili could have recited Captain-Prince Galanor’s words from memory. But now that he had fought a war himself, now that he had been in command, the words were almost new to him. 

Aximili could hear the obligatory bravado of leadership. He could hear the derision as the First Officer briefed the Captain on the Yeerks’ new ships. Now that Aximili had seen war firsthand, he could read the fear, the double meaning underneath their disparaging bluster. The Yeerks were making technological advances faster than Andalite strategists had predicted. They had conquered and enslaved three races and were inevitably on their way to their fourth. Each species gave them new creativity, new perspectives. Andalites had resources and technology beyond the scope of any other race in the galaxy. But they had taken millennia to get there and were too arrogant to acknowledge the adaptability of their enemies. And every advancement the Yeerks made was because they had annihilated an Andalite crew and salvaged the wreckage. 

This was one of the most honored crews, on one of the most commemorated missions of the Yeerk War. Aximili had experienced this holoprogram dozens of times. But now they looked like fools. Frightened fools.

‹Ax,› Marco said, holding a hand up and waving it. ‹Did you put this on to break the news to me that you’re in love with this Captain guy?›

‹What?›

‹You haven’t stared so hard at someone since I introduced you to Hayden Christensen.›

‹Oh.› Aximili shifted his hooves. ‹No, I am just distracted.›

Aximili deliberately focused on Marco, honed in on his reactions. Aximili wasn’t here to analyze the program. He was here to share his culture with Marco. This was it, for better or for worse.

Marco paced the perimeter of the battle bridge, looking around each officer’s shoulder. ‹This is real? It’s not a ‘based-on-a-true-story’ or a documentary reenactment?›

‹Yes,› Aximili said. ‹I have told you, Andalites do not have acting. These are the collected crew logs from this engagement. Captain-Prince Galanor was commander of the fleet’s counter strike force after the Hork-Bajir conflict. This is his assault on the Yeerk invasion of the Mak system.›

It was impossible, even, to simply explain the roles of the heroes of his people without also referring to their war crimes. How did Aximili remember this program as something that was simple? Nothing was simple about war.

Marco circled back around to the center of the room and examined the battle station display. He looked up at Captain-Prince Galanor. He examined the map with a stalk eye while Galanor listed the strengths of the Andalite forces. Their superior weapons; their superior training; their Dome ships, for which the Yeerks had no counter at this point. He talked about their honor, when the Yeerks had none. He talked about their duty, for the Yeerks were the Andalites’ responsibility. It had been so inspiring at one time.

‹They’re going to lose,› Marco said simply. ‹They have stronger individual ships, but the Yeerks are faster, have better numbers, and their position all over the system is stronger.›

Aximili glanced back at Marco. Of course what had been a shock to Andalites was obvious to him. ‹Yes,› he confirmed. ‹This mission was one of the most noble sacrifices of the war effort. It was a tragedy that taught us much about Yeerk tactics.›

Marco’s stalk eyes scanned the room. ‹How long is this program?›

‹If you watch it at standard speed, it is two full days. Of course, there are places you can accelerate. The real appeal is this stage -- the planning, and then most people jump to the actual engagement.›

‹So,› Marco said, ‹Andalite movies… are literally watching the real last moments of real soldiers and being entertained by the carnage?› Disgust welled up in Marco. Aximili shut off the incoming signal. He had enough disgust of his own.

‹No,› Aximili protested. ‹The entertainment is the tactics, the fleet movements, the pride of victory, and the honor of fighting for the People. This program -- this battle -- it goes badly, but this crew sacrifices itself so that other Andalite ships can escape safely and return to the fleet with information. They are heroes.›

‹What happened to the Mak?› Marco asked darkly. 

Aximili pointed his eyes away from Marco, one stalk eye still on Captain-Prince Galanor. ‹They were a total loss. All taken. But we got valuable data from this conflict, at a critical time in the Yeerks’ growth. This planet… was not considered a major loss. They were relatively few in number, like the Hork-Bajir.›

‹Yeah? Is that also something your guys did, or is it just a coincidence?›

Aximili looked down at the holographic image of the Mak system. He couldn’t answer that question. He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. ‹This is not how I remember it,› Aximili said. 

‹I don’t want to finish this,› Marco said. ‹I don’t want to watch these people die.›

‹I don’t either.› 

Aximili shut the program off and looked up out of old habit. The holograms around them faded, allowing the sky to show through the dome again. That had always been one of Aximili’s favorite parts: the rush of starting the program and being swept away from your normal life, then the slow fade back into the calm of what you know. It wasn’t the same anymore. Aximili knew both worlds now. 

Marco was quiet as he followed Aximili out of the holodome. The somber mood only lasted for a moment, though, because a crowd had gathered across the street. Dozens of civilians were pretending to be engaged with an avant-garde plant arrangement exhibit. Aximili briefly met eyes with the plant artist who had been baffled by the sudden influx of people to his work. There was a flash of recognition in the artist’s eyes, then he slumped in disappointment.

The light was back in Marco’s eyes. As they walked back to the bridge, he gradually edged closer to Aximili until their arms were nearly touching. Somehow, he had managed to weaponize how low he had to hold his tail. His languid saunter was so distracting, Aximili had to spare a stalk eye just to watch him move.  

‹What’s the Andalite equivalent of getting coffee?› Marco asked.

‹We have tea,› Ax said with an edge of disdain. ‹I’ve mentioned it.›

Marco leaned forward to look up at Aximili with his main eyes. ‹Take me out for tea, Prince.›

Aximili sighed. He was getting tired. But Marco only had two lunar periods left in morph and it had been a long time since he’d been able to put on such a show.

They crossed into Rec District One. Three and Four had been overtaken by human morph amusements. Rec District One was where the more traditional establishments were. Of course, that meant that the patrons were largely members of the military and elders. However, the tea was good and they didn’t have time to linger. 

Aximili led Marco to the copse of trees where the tea retreat was. He ordered for them at the station, then selected a tree to stand under. The canopy was woven together into a lattice, the flowered tendrils of the  _ hijala  _ trees forming a shelter over the establishment. Here and there, some of the vines were allowed to fall. The fog near the ground clinged to them like wispy curtains floating gently, giving each of the trees some small semblance of privacy.

Their tea was delivered by a young female, who gasped audibly when Marco looked at her, then nearly dropped their tea troughs when she recognized Aximili. She lowered her tail and stalk eyes humbly, set the troughs down in front of them, and skittered away as if something was in pursuit.

Marco grinned. Aximili sighed and dipped his hoof in his trough. He had ordered soothing meditation tea for them both. Hopefully the herbal sedative would calm Aximili and subdue Marco. Meditation tea was meant to be sipped slowly, but Aximili drank it in like he was thirsty.

‹This is weird,› Marco commented, his hoof tentatively dipped into his tea. ‹I feel like I’m… smelling? -- feeling? -- this through my leg? It’s like… holding a warm cup of coffee up to your face.›

‹Do you like it?› Aximili reached over to the nearest tendril and began unweaving it from the bottom. Tea retreats had many relaxing meditation stimuli. Aximili usually chose a tree with a strategy puzzle, but he had had enough of that stimulus for the day. The tactile feedback from unraveling and reweaving the  _ hijala _ vine began to ease his current restlessness. 

‹It’s really nice,› Marco confirmed. He let out a contented sigh and looked around. ‹Well, it’s suddenly busy in here. Weird how that seems to keep happening.›

‹I hope creating this spectacle has been fun for you,› Aximili said. He wasn’t sure himself if he was being coy or not.

‹Oh, it has,› Marco confirmed. ‹Almost worth the price of admission to  _ War Propaganda: The 4D IMAX Experience _ .›

Aximili strained to pull a knot out of the vine. Whoever had been here before him had not been gifted with plants. He could almost hear his mother saying to just cut it off and let it start fresh. Aximili persevered. The knot loosened in Aximili’s fingers and he pulled the end of the vine free.

‹You know,› Aximili said with some hesitation. ‹That holoprogram was my favorite as a child. War-Prince Galanor was my hero, after Elfangor.›

Marco was absently running his hand down the smooth bark of the  _ hijala _ tree. He looked up at Aximili, his ears dipping low. ‹I get why you like soap operas so much.›

‹It isn’t funny,› Aximili said.

‹I know,› Marco said quietly. ‹This is one of those laugh or cry situations, and Andalites don’t cry, right?›

Aximili rubbed the frayed edges of the vine between his thumb and fingers, trying to smoothe it back out. ‹Not with our eyes.›

‹Are all your movies like that?› Marco asked.

‹They are all the documentary record of significant historical events, if that’s what you mean.›

‹It wouldn’t take much to make something better than that…› Marco’s right hand joined his left, running up and down the fine grain of the tree’s trunk.

‹Don’t touch the tree with both hands,› Aximili said. ‹It’s lewd.›

Marco burst out laughing. ‹Of course it is. I’m sorry for feeling you up after the first date, Ms. Tree. I hope we can still be friends.›

‹We should be going,› Aximili suggested. He neatly braided the tree’s tendril. There was little artistry in it, but it was functional and in better condition than he found it.

Marco seemed eager to leave. There was still a lively vigor in his motions, despite the tranquilizing tea. Aximili was appropriately sluggish and blunted, though, which was a relief after sharp realizations had needled down his spine all day.

As they crossed each island, their procession of followers thinned out like a parade gradually coming to an end. ‹Can we visit your parents?› Marco asked as they crossed the final bridge out of the city. Aximili groaned. ‹Watch out, or I’ll tell your mom how enthusiastic you are about seeing her.›

‹She  _ knows _ ,› Aximili muttered.

‹Humor me.›

‹I’m going to die humoring you.›

‹And they say  _ I’m _ overdramatic,› Marco said. ‹I need to demorph and your parents’ place is closer.›

‹Fine, but you’ll make it up to me.›

Marco laughed. ‹You know I’m good for it.›

Aximili didn’t announce their presence as they arrived at his parents’ scoop. His mother was perceptive enough that she almost always detected Aximili before she could see him, and Marco was loud in every way it was possible for an Andalite to be loud. Aximili opened the scoop entrance and let Marco in first. They had cut it close on his morph time, but considering how they had been followed in Naraya, it was unwise for him to demorph in the open.

Tobias was already there, in Andalite morph. He was drawing on a portable display, playing a quiet version of the human game pictionary he had taught to Noorlin. Some of Tobias’ fine motor skills had atrophied in his years as a hawk. He’d spent enough time as an Andalite now that his sketches surpassed Noorlin and Aximili in skill, not that either of them had any particular talent. 

‹It seems like the two of you have had an eventful day,› Forlay commented. She didn’t turn from the wall of displays where her streams rapidly refreshed and scrolled, but she did afford them a glance with a stalk eye.

“Did we make the news?” Marco, human again, peered around Forlay’s shoulder, closer to her than Aximili generally stood.

She peered down at him with her main eyes and stepped aside to give herself some space. ‹You made the gossip streams and the civilian net.›

“What are they saying?”

‹’Who is Prince Aximili’s striking baseborn companion?’› she said in a mocking tone.

“ _ Hell yes _ , I’m your low-class trophy mate, Ax.” Forlay recoiled from Marco’s toothsome grin. 

Aximili nudged Marco out of the way to take his place next to Forlay at her workstation. She had left the opinion pieces and discussion forums open on several screens for him. There was much speculation on Marco’s identity, including clues Forlay’s agents had seeded about his records from a small performance conservatory and his family background. Some of the comments were made in a derogatory tone, but nothing on a level that offended Aximili. After all, if he could be in a relationship with an alien, it would be ridiculous to be ashamed of being in a relationship with a thirdborn.

‹Did you embarrass Ax on purpose, Marco?› Tobias asked.

Marco leaned against the wall of the scoop, crossed his arms, and shrugged. “I didn’t eat any cigarette butts, roll around on the ground, steal food from children, or yell about how fun it is to say ‘indubitably.’ So I think I did pretty well, all things considered.” 

‹I’m very good at being a human now,› Aximili protested, still scanning gossip sources. ‘Overly familiar,’ ‘public vulgarity,’ ‘captivating in a degrading way’... Certainly Marco had made his own impression on Andalite society.

‹Did you enjoy yourselves?› Noorlin asked, smiling down at Marco.

Marco looked over at Aximili. “Mostly, I think.” 

Marco pushed himself away from the wall and grabbed Tobias by the inside of the elbow to pull him aside. Tobias jerked his arm away but followed Marco across the scoop. They were not actually out of earshot of anyone; Marco was just blocking out the scene. It seemed he hadn’t yet come down from his performance. 

‹What do you want?› Tobias grumbled, refusing to look up from his drawing with his main eyes.

“I want you to help me with something.”

‹I want you to take a vow of silence, but we can’t always get what we want.›

Marco rolled his eyes. “Listen,” he hissed. “Ax took me to a movie today and it was like, disturbing. Apparently literally all their movies or holoprograms, whatever, are hardcore propaganda. It’s sick. And it’s  _ boring. _ ”

‹So? Andalites are messed up and boring, we know that.› All three Andalites glanced at Tobias. 

“So what I’m saying is there’s a vacuum. It’d be  _ so easy  _ to basically take over their whole entertainment system.”

‹You’re nuts,› Tobias scoffed.

“We used to pitch whole sci fi shows to each other all the time!”

‹We were idiots.›

“Who cares? The standards here are  _ so low _ . I’ve never understood why Ax loves the spray-on hair commercial as much as I do right now. Everything is so clear to me.”

‹Seriously, you’ve run out of your meds,› Tobias deadpanned.

“Fine,” Marco said. “I’m trying to let you in on this on the ground floor. It’s not my fault your stock portfolio isn’t appropriately diversified either.”

Next to Aximili, Forlay cleared out one of her displays and opened one of her agent’s private streams. Aximili turned and stepped away to avoid incriminating himself. He noticed an oddly amused look in his mother’s eyes.

‹Marco,› Forlay said, her thought-speak pulling like something sticky and sweet. Marco snapped his mouth shut and looked at her. She hadn’t ever called him by his name. ‹I am intrigued.›

 


	27. Chapter 27

MARCO

_September 1999_

Marco twisted the knob and let the door swing open on its own. He went back to where he’d been lounging on the couch and unpaused the game. The door clicked shut behind him. He’d been in the middle of a sticky series of platforms and as soon as he unpaused, he overshot a jump and Lara fell to her death. He died three more times in quick succession. He hissed through gritted teeth and jabbed the buttons to continue so hard they the controller creaked.

It didn’t help that he could feel Ax hovering behind him, watching over his shoulder.

“You are not doing well,” Ax observed helpfully. “Do-do-doing, ing, well-luh.”

“Thanks for the insight, Sherlock,” Marco sneered. “Don’t you have work to do? My dad and his wife aren’t gonna be gone forever.”

Ax didn’t answer. Lara Croft died again and Marco threw his controller down on the coffee table. It clattered against the wood, scattering the homework he was supposed to be working on and knocking into a coffee mug. Water sloshed out onto the sheets of paper. Marco twisted to look up at Ax over the back of the couch and Ax winced. His too-pretty face of stolen features was somewhere between Jake and Cassie on the judgmental-to-concerned scale.

“Dude, what?” Marco said. Ax’s eyes followed Marco’s hand as he raked his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. “You know where my dad’s computer is and I know you don’t need my help.”

“You usually put in the password,” Ax said quietly. He shuffled his feet. So annoying. As if this alien had any reason or right to mime human discomfort. As if Marco giving him the cold shoulder meant anything to him at all.

Marco turned back around and fixed his eyes on the frozen GAME OVER screen. “I’ve done enough going through the motions for you lately. Do what Jake sent you here to do and go.”

Silently, Ax took his seat at the computer. Marco heard a quick tapping of keys and then the too-loud chime of Windows unlocking. He listened to Ax’s _Hackers-_ esque typing, working a muscle in his jaw until it got so tight he had to stretch his mouth.

The rapping of keys paused. Marco wondered if Ax was done already and leaned forward to grab his controller again. “What do you mean, ‘going through the motions?’” Ax asked.

Marco sighed. “I thought we kept you around because you were smart.” He added under his breath, “It’s definitely not because you’re loyal.”

Ax blew a sharp breath from his nose. “You are angry with me because of our encounter with Gonrod and the others,” Ax surmised. Marco wondered if Ax had learned enough about sarcasm to recognize it in the slow clap he gave. “But I cooperated with your plan to deceive them. You were there when I told Estrid that I choose righteous humans over corrupt Andalites.”

Marco scoffed. “Yeah, _after_ you contemplated jumping ship like you always do when we meet an Andalite whose name doesn’t start with Visser.” He let that lie for a second, then added, “But I get it, cute girl. Hard to notice that everyone is super shady when there’s a cute girl around.”

Ax was quiet for more than a minute. Marco didn’t care to look at him to try to read if it was hurt silence or angry silence. No one else was going to say the things Ax deserved to hear. Jake was too busy focusing on maximizing the utility of the team. Rachel only cared that he stayed in the fight. Tobias wouldn’t confront his best friend. Cassie would rather tell him his feelings were valid and offer him sympathy. Marco? Marco was tired of Ax’s feelings. Fuck Ax’s feelings if they made it so confusing to know whose side he was on.

Finally, Ax said, “You can’t understand what it is like to be in my position.”

Marco rose to his knees and put his elbows over the back of the couch. He tried to ignore how drawn Ax’s expression was. It reminded Marco of how he hadn't been able to look in the mirror for a month after he’d let Visser One take his mom again. It wasn’t fair that Ax didn’t even have to do anything to get under his skin when he had that face.

“Let’s do a thought experiment.” Marco started in a faux-light tone, but as he went on, his throat tightened until his voice was low and dark. “If I was stranded on your planet, would the Andalites who found me have accepted me as one of them? Would they share their culture with me? Would they trust me with their secrets and their lives and their families and fight beside me as an equal?”

Ax frowned. Marco hoped he was thinking about how every Andalite they’d met since he’d joined the Animorphs had been at least a traitor, usually a murderer, and the one Ax had basically tripped on his own hooves over had been unapologetically willing to wipe out humanity. Ax didn’t answer. That was okay -- Marco’s questions were rhetorical anyway.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Marco said. He settled back into the corner of the couch.

Ax puffed out another sharp breath and the sound of typing resumed, this time even faster and more forceful. Marco listened, his arms crossed and his leg bouncing. Usually he’d tell a joke when the silence felt this awkward.

He sighed. Maybe he’d been too harsh. He wasn’t _wrong,_ but maybe he’d salted the wound too much. It wasn’t like Ax could really be subtle in his human morph. Probably everyone had heard him crying after Estrid and Gonrod lifted off. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Even if he hadn’t fallen like an idiot for the first girl of his own species he’d seen in two years, Ax could’ve gone home. He didn’t just choose humans over traitorous, attempted genocidal Andalites. He’d chosen humans over all Andalites, over seeing his family again, over everything he’d wanted since he sank to the bottom of the ocean.

Marco didn’t like to backpedal. When you talk as much shit as Marco, you have to be prepared for the consequences. Marco opened his mouth. He wasn’t going to say he was sorry, but he might get halfway there.

Before Marco could say anything, he heard Ax wheel his chair back. “Please tell Prince Jake I have completed the task. I will leave now.”

Marco craned his neck around to watch Ax go. His heart was thundering in his ears. “I —”

Ax looked up, his hand on the doorknob. He had Cassie’s sad eyes, Jake’s air of exhaustion, Rachel’s displeased frown, and a wrinkle between his eyes that Marco got when he was just completely done. “What?”

Marco swallowed the tight lump in his throat. “See you later.”

Ax’s frown deepened and he shut the door behind him.

* * *

 

_September 2004  
3971.1.101_

“A young ‘ _female’s_ ’ parents die and she’s taken in by the asshole side of her family who make her… clean the scoop and uh… trim the plants all day, I don’t know. One day she hears about a party the, er, well, the prince is throwing, but her family forbids her from going. She really wants to let loose however Andalites let loose and she’s super sad about it. The Ellimist notices and he helps her go, _but at what cost?_ You know the Ellimist, it’s always a setup. She meets the prince and they fall in love, but when there are _no moons in the sky_ , she has to leave because the Ellimist… did something. This one’s hard to adapt.”

Ax’s ears were facing Marco like satellite dishes. <I think you’re doing well.>

Marco rolled his eyes. “Thanks, babe, you’re so supportive.” He continued, “So she has to run away and the prince wants to track her down, but the only thing he has to go on are her hoofprints. Her hooves are like, really tiny.”

<Does she need medical attention? Is she able to eat?> Noorlin asked. Marco couldn’t tell if he was genuinely concerned or making fun of him. What a charming family trait.

“You know what? Scrap that one. I’m starting over.”

<Probably for the best,> Tobias said flatly. He was preening his flight feathers, perched on what looked like a poorly-balanced coat rack that Noorlin had obviously carved for him himself. Possibly blindfolded. It was perfect for Tobias who was, himself, imbalanced.

Marco pulled his hair over his shoulder, twisting it in his hands while he brainstormed aloud. “Okay, there’s this… hmm, uh, _vecol_. His mother tries to hide him so they can stay together, but she’s caught and killed by this gross, creepy judge. Do Andalites have judges? This character is amazing though, he sings this whole song about how his perverse horniness burns like a fire. Do Andalites sing?”

<You’re going to play the judge, right? You were born for the part,> Tobias said.

 _“Anyway,_ ” Marco said, moving his hand from right to left to illustrate the transition wipe he saw in his head. “The creepy judge raises the _vecol_ in isolation. Which I guess is his duty, because Andalites are sick. But homeboy judge is really horrible to him ...like most of you guys are to people like that. This probably wouldn’t go over well, huh?”

<Perhaps not for your first production,> Forlay said. She was looking up at her array of displays, her four eyes scanning up and down like she was in _The Matrix._ <But attempting to convince the public to sympathize with a _vecol_ protagonist is certainly an idea worth pursuing eventually. >

Marco lifted a brow. “What, are you already considering franchise opportunities?”

<I suppose anything is possible, if you strike the right balance of marketability and subversion, and if you manage to avoid being assassinated.> Her tone remained neutral, possibly even pleasant for Forlay. She didn’t look away from her work.

Marco raised his brows and crossed his arms. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

<You think?> Tobias scoffed.

<I imagine my contact will have some opinions regarding the nature of the content, but you will have time to sort that out,> Forlay said.

<I see what you are doing, mother,> Ax grumbled.

Forlay turned her upper torso so she could smile at her son. Marco recoiled like someone had just offered him a bowlful of baby spiders when he’d been expecting popcorn. <Do you?>

Ax shifted his weight away from her, but his hooves remained in place. Maybe he was getting better at standing up to his mother. <You are entangling Marco in your machinations to maneuver me into a more favorable position for your plans.>

Forlay laughed. <Aximili, not everything is an insidious plot, nor is everything about you. Perhaps I am intrigued by your human’s vision, _as an artist_. You are not the only one who has partaken of their media. >

Marco raised his hand like he had a question in class. None of them gave him more than a stalk eye’s attention, so he cleared his throat loudly. “Pause,” he said when Forlay twisted a stalk eye and Ax turned to look at him. “Important question: Forlay, do you have a favorite show?”

<We should be going if you’re to be on time for your meeting.> Ax hooked his hand inside Marco’s elbow to guide him to the exit.

“Come on, Ax, I need to know if your mom is all Ken Burns documentaries about labor strikes and communism all the time or if she can kick back with some _Saved By the Bell_ like a normal person.”

Despite his protests, Marco let Ax drag him outside. With a still-sprouting stalk eye, he watched Tobias follow them and gain altitude. Instead of meeting somewhere in the city, Forlay had arranged it in a place that could only be triangulated by Andalites or dryads. _If you see the huge orange broccoli, you’ve gone too far_ . Because that was so much _less suspicious_ than just working in public and stirring up gossip like real TV execs. Next time, Marco would set up his own meeting. After all, he needed to get more buzz going before Merulan’s official debut.

<Do you even know where you’re going?> Marco asked. He’d fallen behind Ax, who skipped between the tangle of vines and trickling eddies as if they weren’t eighty percent obscured by fog. Marco’s legs were soaked up to his knees from tramping through the maze of currents flowing into the huge mouth of the delta.

<Of _course_ , > Ax said in that familiar superior tone. _Can you hack those files, Ax? Can you cut through this fence, Ax? Is this really what you want, Ax?_

Ax led them to a small copse and parted a sparse curtain of fronds for Marco. Tobias swooped in after him and tucked himself into a hollow in the foliage. The meeting place was like a natural gazebo. It was connected to the main body of the forest by a tendriled arm of the forest stretching out toward the sea. The vines draped down around them like fingers that couldn’t quite touch what they were reaching for. Between the ever-present fog and the gauzy curtain of leafy filaments, they were basically camouflaged. At least if Forlay had to be so obviously shady, she knew where to do it in style.

There was only so long Marco could contemplate the beauty of nature, even when it glowed in the dark. He sighed heavily. When he morphed Andalite, Marco usually leaned into the optimistic swell of calm that came with it. But the moons cast subtle shifting shadows as they transited and his inner strategist wouldn’t let him stop thinking they were waiting for a trap to spring. He couldn’t let himself sink into the instinctive positivity. Instead, he just felt the full weight of the prey drive keeping his stalk eyes twitchy and his hooves on edge.

<How did your mom hire the only Andalite who’s ever been late?> Marco complained, crossing his arms and digging his tail blade into the moist ground.

Ax looked up from the handheld computer he’d brought. Technically, he was working from home. <Are you nervous?>

<No,> Marco said quickly. <I’m annoyed. I’m a _professional._ >

Ax snorted. <I was there some of the time you were ‘a professional,’> he said. <As I recall, you spent quite a lot of time calculating the most ‘fashionable’ time to arrive belatedly.>

Marco felt a shiver run up through the fur along his spine. It was hardly fair for Ax to flirt with him when Marco was ostensibly trying to do business. <You were _barely ever_ there, > Marco objected, needling him back. <And there’s a difference between publicity stunts and meetings with potential producers. I was never late for real work. This ‘entertainment contact’ of Forlay’s is already nine of _your_ minutes late. >

Ax glanced up from his work and quickly looked back down. Marco would have laughed if he wasn’t so nervous. Ax couldn’t exactly play it cool when Marco could feel the exact mix of surprise, pride, and turned on he was trying to play off.

It had taken him a while, but Marco had spent enough time as an Andalite to get the hang of their temporal sense. Ax had tried to explain it to him -- something about gene oscillations, circadian rhythms, and the way their retinas had evolved to detect minute changes in light as the moons transited the sky. Funny how thought-speak could turn into the same white noise Marco heard when people tried to teach him Algebra. The one thing Marco did absorb from the Andalite biology lesson Ax had tried to give him was _“but you only spend four lunar cycles at a time in Andalite morph, so it is unlikely you will ever be able to interpret it.”_

Maybe if Marco’s Algebra teachers had tried reverse psychology, he could have learned to solve for x. It wasn’t like Andalite time perception was any different from sinking back into bird morph and letting it fly or using a canine morph to track smells. Marco didn’t have to understand molecular biology to understand instincts, even if modern Andalites used their time sense for more complex things now that their predators were extinct.

Of course, Marco had exceeded expectations yet again. He was hyper-aware of every degree the moons shifted, his eyes and brain converting light to time. The more time passed, the more he knotted up with anxiety. If he’d been human, it would have been all internal -- cold in his stomach, pressure in his chest, circular logic escalating to a scream in his own head. As an Andalite it was all external -- restless leg syndrome, roving eyes, twitching ears and blade. He had no outlet for the building tension. No outlet but Ax, anyway.

Marco slinked up along his side like a cat rubbing up against someone’s leg. <Marco,> Ax warned halfheartedly. Marco snaked his arm around Ax’s and linked their hands together.

<What? It’s not like anyone’s going to sneak up on us,> Marco said. <We’re two Andalites with Hawkeye up there as backup.>

<So you do remember I’m here and you just don’t care,> Tobias said. <Typical.>

<It’s way above my pay grade to psychoanalyze you, but if you weren’t a voyeur, we’d still be on speaking terms.> Marco said, guiding Ax’s hand up to his face.

<Please, Marco, give me the silent treatment. I’m begging you,> Tobias drolled.

<Haven’t I made it clear to both of you that I    am tired of this specific argument?> Ax usually seemed to take Tobias’ side on this one, but counter to his irritated tone, Ax flattened his palm against Marco’s cheek and leaned into his side.

<Stop it,> Tobias snapped. <Right now.>

Ax stiffened, stilled, and pulled away from Marco.

<Calm down, Iago,> Marco sneered at Tobias.

<For god’s sake, Marco,> Tobias protested. <Ax, do you see that _flaar_ at your four o’clock? It’s an Andalite in morph. >

<Are you sure?> Ax asked. <Andalites do not typically morph _flaar_. >

<Ax-man. I hunt these, you think I can’t tell? It’s not acting like a _flaar_. >

With almost no shift of his weight, almost no outward indication he was going to strike, Ax cracked his tail like a whip. Marco hadn’t seen the small, furry animal until it was trapped, struggling, under the blunt edge of Ax’s blade. It was sort of yellow-green, had four beady eyes, and its six short legs were currently motoring and scratching at the ground. It looked kind of like if a weasel, a lizard, and an elderly pug had a three-way baby with the least attractive qualities of all of them. No wonder Andalites “didn’t typically” morph them. Marco wondered if Andalites saw _flaar_ and reacted the way normal people do when a dog-sized rat runs across the sidewalk in front of them.

Ax had the _flaar_ pinned behind its shoulder blades. No amount of wriggling was going to free it. Ax drove his blade down only slightly. The pressure on the creature’s spine forced it still.

<Demorph,> Ax commanded in his terse Prince Aximili tone. It was still hot every time.

There was a moment’s hesitation, then the _flaar_ started to shift. At first, it seemed to be shrinking, all its limbs slorping into its body, its features becoming indistinct. It wasn’t the usual disorderly morphing process, where _flaar_ pieces melted into Andalite pieces. Instead, the _flaar’s_ trapped body shifted into a slightly-squashed flesh-sphere. Marco studied Ax’s expression and saw the immediate glint of recognition.

In mere seconds, limbs unpeeled from the orb like the skin of an orange, if peeling an orange could somehow be fluid and artful. Like a dance. And when she was done, Marco realized he recognized the Andalite that had been spying on them, too.

Estrid-Corill-Darrath.

Ax drew his tail back, but his muscles were wound tight, like he was about to enter a cage fight with twenty Hork-Bajir. He looked so livid, there was no way he wouldn’t have won that fight.

<Prince Aximili,> Estrid said, bowing her entire front half at the knees and lowering her tail. It was still significantly higher than Marco had been trained to hold his tail, but when she’d first demorphed, she’d been holding hers higher than Ax’s. <I am gratified to see you again.>

Ax had no time for Andalite posturing. It was a good thing his position and status afforded him that right because he was less and less patient these days. <What are you doing here?>

Estrid looked affronted. <Surely Forlay told you the meeting she arranged was with me?>

Marco didn’t need to have an empathic link with Ax to tell he was furious. It crested over Marco like a wave anyway, so strong Marco swayed and had to plant his hooves. He felt Estrid’s focused stare, especially when Ax grabbed him by the wrist and nearly dragged him toward the breach in the curtain of vines.

<Where are you going?> Estrid said, bounding after them.

Ax rounded on her and she jumped back reflexively, her tail twitching up to the ready. <This is my mother’s idea of a joke,> Ax said. <I’m afraid she arranged this meeting to humiliate us both. I’m sorry you wasted your time.>

Estrid looked back and forth between Ax, Marco, and Ax’s hand on Marco’s wrist. She said, tryingly, <I understand why you might feel that way, considering our past association -->

<Considering that your mission to Earth was never documented, I question how my mother found out about our ‘past association’ at all,> Ax snapped.

Estrid took a step back, clearly incensed at the implied accusation. <I… may have told her about my covert ops experience when I petitioned to join her network. It seemed pertinent.>

<Of course. Because getting away with treason and bioweapons engineering, then coming home and becoming your illustrious mother’s morph dancing protégé is obviously not enough for you,> Ax mocked. <You assumed that dropping my name would ingratiate you to my mother. You do not know my mother.>

<Would that be enough for you _,_ _Prince_ Aximili? > She said “prince” in that way Marco knew Ax resented. <I told you when we met that I never wanted to be a morph dancer. How would you feel if you spent your entire life wanting something and at every juncture someone stood in your way?>

Ax didn’t respond, but through their bond Marco felt a dark, cold knot well up in his own chest. Maybe that hit Ax too close to home. Marco stepped forward. In his best Andalite impersonation he said, <Forgive my interruption, but I was under the impression that Forlay arranged this meeting for _me,_ and that you were acting as my escort, Prince Aximili? >

Ax and Estrid’s main eyes snapped to Marco. Her keen, forest green eyes scanned him up and down. Marco was familiar enough with Ax, in all possible ways, to know what his lingering eyes meant. With Estrid, he couldn’t be sure. Marco was undeniably hot, but Estrid carried herself like the Andalite Paris Hilton, so maybe she was just taking in what a lowborn commoner he was.

<Of course,> Estrid allowed. <My apologies. I did not anticipate Prince Aximili would attend this meeting. We have only seen each other once since he returned from Earth.>

Ax’s shoulders tensed, but Marco only reacted with a polite smile at Estrid that wasn't really for her. <Did you think I’d be jealous?> he asked Ax privately.

<There _is_ precedent, > he groused.

<But, Ax, I’m so much more mature now,> Marco said. Still smiling, he said to Estrid, <It is unfortunate that war has made Prince Aximili so distrustful. I’m certain your experience will be a great asset to me, if you are interested in my proposal.>

<I certainly am interested, Merulan-Frodlin-Halas,> she said.

<You’ve heard of me?> Marco feigned surprise, but he’d expected whomever they met with would have done their research. That it turned out to be Estrid only made him more sure of that.

<I had not, until you started publishing your column,> she said, still studying him like a book she wasn’t sure she was going to read.

<Oh? And what do you think?>

Noorlin had contacted the equivalent of Andalite tabloids to establish Merulan’s background and control public interest. Menderash had forged references and transcripts of his time at an art academy. Marco had been spending most of the time Ax was at work writing witty analytical pieces about Earth media from an Andalite perspective. If Ax was the Andalite expert on human culture, it only made sense if his boyfriend shared his passion. If Marco was actually going to attempt an Andalite media coup, he had to establish the battleground before he could aim his first targeted strike.

<You have an… interesting perspective. You are clearly well-versed in various types of human media. No doubt Prince Aximili has assisted with your studies.>

Marco snorted. No wonder Ax had a crush on her; she was a sneaky smartass. <Yeah, have you _seen_ his DVD collection? >

<I have not. As I said, we have only met once since his return,> she said, squinting at Marco.

<Rhetorical question,> he said.

<What?> Estrid’s ears perked in confusion.

<Anyway,> Marco redirected, <Forlay said her contact -- you -- could help market my idea and add some credibility to the project. I would welcome your assistance.>

<What is your proposal?>

<Okay,> Marco said, and he held his hands up to frame his pitch. Estrid’s stalk eyes stared at each of his hands, seemingly waiting for something to happen. <Picture this: a short-form, serialized, dramatic performance featuring Andalite actors, distributed through the civilian net. I’ve studied the distribution statistics and the most viral streams for the last year have all been Earth programs fitting this description. Why not do the same, for the local market?>

Estrid stared at Marco, glanced at Aximili, and back to Marco. <Andalite actors? That is provocative, to say the least.>

<Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem like you’re above being provocative.> Marco locked eyes with Estrid in a very forward gesture considering their relative statuses. He smiled at Estrid again, and the smile was still meant for Ax. Just as he’d hoped, he felt Ax’s twinge of irritation.

Estrid seemed to be calculating, possibly balancing her personal dissatisfaction with the risk of dishonor and failure. But as brilliant as she no doubt was, this was an Andalite who had sacrificed recognition for her genius for an unsanctioned glory mission just so she could be a part of something. This was an Andalite with a history of falling in with the wrong crowd. Marco wasn’t afraid she would say no.

<Do you have a concept?> she asked.

Marco took a deep breath. <I’m still workshopping it.>

<How can I make a decision whether to endorse your work and assist in its production if I do not know what you are planning?>

<Okay,> Marco said. <How’s this? A girl’s mother is so jealous of her… scientific brilliance that she petitions a high-ranking intelligence officer to murder her. The girl escapes and runs deep into the forest, where she meets… seven unusually small Andalites…> Estrid squinted and the top of her nose slits crinkled. Slightly shaken by her obvious skepticism, Marco continued, <They have a good time living out in the middle of nowhere until the girl’s mother finds out. She poisons the field where the girl grazes and she dies. Her small friends find her body and put it on display.> Estrid’s horrified expression encouraged Marco to rush through the end. <A prince finds her body, falls in love with it, and touches her face. She’s saved by the power of love, she rises from the dead, and at some point the mother is pushed off a cliff, I’m kinda hazy on that part. And they all live happily ever after.>

<I think that’s your worst one yet,> Tobias said.

<Who asked you, Roger Egret?> Marco said. In open thought-speak, he added, <Like I said, I’m workshopping it.>

<I do not think I am interested,> Estrid said slowly.

<He has other ideas,> Ax interjected.

<Yeah, I definitely _do_ …> Marco said reluctantly, digging his back hoof into the ground.

<Come on, Marco,> Tobias said. <Think. This is Estrid? The girl who lied and committed treason because she was desperate to contribute to the war effort?>

<Right! Duh,> Marco said. He launched into his next pitch. <A female’s… older brother -- brother is sexier than dad -- is conscripted into the military. At some point, he sustained an injury severe enough that she knows if he goes, he’ll die. So she morphs him and goes in his stead. She has to balance her lie with preserving her family’s honor. Military drama! Intrigue! Forbidden romance! It’ll be great.>

Estrid did look intrigued for a moment. She’d fixed all four eyes on Marco, which Ax only did when he wanted to make out. Ax was easier to read, but Marco was _pretty sure_ that wasn’t what Estrid was thinking. She shifted her weight and whipped her tail around. At first, Marco assumed it was the thoughtful gesture that Ax and Forlay both did when they were mulling over an idea. But instead of pivoting back, Estrid swung her tail in a wide arc and brained Marco right in the temple. Marco barely stayed upright. He certainly wasn’t prepared for her second strike.

He couldn’t hear the clash of blade on blade for the ringing in his ears, but his spinning vision was clearing up enough to see Ax get between him and Estrid. Ax forced her back by leveraging his greater body mass. Ax hadn’t lost to her when they were kids and he certainly wasn’t about to now. Ax and Tobias sparred regularly since Tobias got his Andalite morph, but Marco hadn’t seen Ax fight so aggressively since the end of the war. Back then, Ax had been fighting an almost hopeless fight for his life. It was unlikely this was a fight for his life, but Ax probably hadn’t felt as frustrated and hopeless since around the first time he met Estrid.

Estrid had speed and maneuverability on her side, but Ax had sheer power, size, and a year of torture and anguish with no satisfactory outlet. The push and pull of battle didn’t last long. Ax pressed the edge of his blade into her throat so closely Marco saw some of her fur fall.

<You have improved,> Estrid said, her thought-speak ringing with the twisted joy of someone who rarely felt challenged. Ax didn’t show it, but Marco knew he felt the same. Andalites. Estrid directed her main eyes at Marco. <Any Andalite could have blocked that blow,> she accused.

<I’m a writer, not a fighter,> Marco said. He was still trying to shake off the feeling that his head was a giant maraca. Marco always thought Andalites basically didn’t have any weaknesses, but it turned out it was their giant brains all along. No wonder Ax had always been so good at knocking their enemies out. It was probably lesson one in tailfighting class.

Estrid laughed. <You are _definitely_ not a writer. >

<I think I like her,> said Tobias.

She looked back to Ax. <I have always wondered why you wanted to perform an intimate act with me in human morph. I believe I understand now. This _Merulan_ is obviously one of your human allies. >

Ax shaved a line into her neck fur. <You are in no position to be making accusations, Estrid,> Ax said.

<No? The public forgave Elfangor’s depravity because he was a hero and he was already dead.> Ax flinched, filling up with disgust. Some of it was at himself. <You have been balancing your honor on the tip of your blade since you got back from Earth. You would have been better off dying with your crew.>

<Never mind,> Tobias said. <I don’t like her.>

Marco shook his head, but that only made his eyesight blur again. He blinked hard. There was no point staying in an addled body when she knew. He started to demorph.

< _This_ human, Aximili? > Estrid said, practically indignant, when Marco was recognizable. <I thought it would at least be your prince.>

Back on two legs and clearheaded again, Marco chuckled and closed the space between them. “Yeah, Ax had to go with the worst human he knew, otherwise it would have been too much of a culture shock from how absolutely shitty Andalites are.”

<I am insulted that you believed you could deceive me,> Estrid said, still looking at Ax.

“I dunno,” Marco answered, totally used to Andalites talking to Ax instead of him, “You bought whatever Arbat tried to sell you. Booksmarts don’t usually leave room for street smarts.”

<I want a meeting with Forlay, Aximili,> Estrid demanded. <I suspect she will not want the People to know _both_ her hero sons are aberrant in the same way. >

<Disparage Elfangor again,> Ax dared, his words silky and deliberate. He sounded like Jake at the end of the war when he made threats he didn’t want to follow through with, right before he followed through. <And I _will_ separate you from your head. >

<Would you really murder a fellow Andalite to cover up your dalliances with humans?>

<I chose humans over you before and I will do it again,> Ax said sharply. <It was not that difficult.>

Marco held up a hand. “Estrid. Stop. Do you really think you can blackmail Forlay? You said yourself that you confessed your unsanctioned, undocumented genocide mission to a woman who has dedicated her whole life to exposing military corruption,” Marco pointed out. “And you’re going to threaten her son without all of that coming out? Forlay passed us along to you as one of ‘her agents,’ but it sounds to me like you’re frustrated because she won’t give you time of day. You can’t figure out why?”

Estrid just glared at Marco so he continued, “I’ll give you a hint: It’s because she knows you’re brilliant and dangerous, but she knows you still have horrible judgment. She’d rather make you my babysitter than trust you. Besides,” he added, “She leaked Elfangor’s ‘dalliances with humans’ herself. If you think she’s not prepared to deal with this --” Marco waved his hand between Ax and himself, “I don’t know why you even want to work for her.”

<Because,> Estrid said quietly, <Forlay followed the path that was expected of her. She had success and acclaim. She willingly gave that up. Some would argue that she has accomplished more as a writer and journalist than she ever did as a genetic engineer. She never allowed herself to be manipulated or controlled. I want to believe that she is not the only female who can have that.>

Marco looked up at Ax. His tail was still shivering with barely-contained rage. He locked eyes with Marco. It was rare, now, that Marco couldn’t read his expressions. As an Andalite, he may not have had the mix of features that made his human morph so beautiful and sad and familiar, but at this point, he was Ax, no matter what body he was in. This was one of those rare exceptions when Ax’s big green eyes were inscrutable. Marco didn’t know what he wanted. Maybe Ax didn’t know either.

“Listen,” Marco said, “This is a mutually-assured destruction situation. Nobody wins. We all have too much shit on each other. But you have something I want and I have something you want. So. You help me out on my project and maybe I’ll let you in on my part-time job.”

<Forlay lets _you_ work for her? >

Marco held up two crossed fingers. “Forlay and I are like this. Anyway, her whole thing is that she takes in freaks and traitors and puts them to work. She’s obviously testing you.”

<I will help you. But your concept needs work.> She glanced back at Ax. <Now, please let me go.>

* * *

As soon as they were back home, Marco collapsed like he was falling onto one of those old-timey fainting couches. He even put the back of his hand over his eyes. He listened to Ax’s footsteps as he walked around the scoop doing work or calisthenics or whatever Ax accomplished by pacing in circles.

Finally, Ax climbed onto the couch with Marco, straddling Marco’s thighs with his human legs and settling back onto Marco’s knees. Marco peeked at him with one eye between his fingers. “Can I help you?”

“You did a good job today,” Ax said, leaning over Marco so they were closer to being face-to-face.

“Ugh, Ax, you don’t have lie to me.” Marco tried to wiggle away but Ax had his legs pinned. “That went so bad. I’m a terrible Andalite.”

“You are in good company,” Ax said. Absently, he ran his finger along the collar of Marco’s t-shirt. “Would you like to discuss your show ideas with me? It would help to have a more solid concept for your next meeting.”

“Hm, sounds good, but I’ve got plans to drown myself in the ocean at 36:30. You’ll have to take a rain check.”

“I’m excited to hear more, though.”

“Ax, will you stop making fun of me? I’ve had kind of a _day_?”

“I am not making fun of you,” Ax said. “I genuinely anticipate your production.”

“Even after all these years, your sarcasm delivery still needs work,” Marco muttered.

Ax rose to his knees and Marco thought he was getting up to leave, but instead he reached over and grabbed the remote control. He settled back onto Marco’s lap and turned the TV on. Marco turned his head to watch as Ax navigated through his extensive DVR until, several layers deep, he opened up an unnamed folder. Marco read some titles, then propped himself up on his elbow and took the remote from Ax.

He scrolled down and kept scrolling, down hundreds and hundreds of videos starting at nearly a year in the past and going all the way back. All the way back to the first time they’d all appeared on TV after the war, up to the last spot Marco had done on _Conan_ before Ax had disappeared _._

Ax had recorded literally every time Marco had appeared on TV.

“This is really cheesy, dude,” Marco said. He cleared his throat and swallowed.

Ax took the remote out of Marco’s hand and let it clatter to the ground. “I like your work. I think you are good at it. I think it is important.”

Marco laughed lightly and looked up at Ax’s sincere face. His endorsement didn’t mean a whole lot. And it did. Marco grabbed Ax by the shirt and pulled him down so they were nose to nose.

“You really think I can pull this off?” Marco asked.

“I don’t know,” Ax admitted. “But I really want you to.”


	28. Chapter 28

AXIMILI

_ February 2000 _

Marco’s father Peter was always smiling. Marco had pointed it out once in a tone of disgust; it was difficult for Aximili to grasp why. Even if it had taken Aximili quite some time to get used to seeing the humans’ insides through their faces, he couldn’t comprehend why human smiles should disgust Marco. 

He did understand that there were many different types of human smiles. There was the sad smile Cassie gave more often than the happy ones, the fake smile Rachel hated Prince Jake to do in photographs, the cruel smile that crept out of Marco when he could no longer hold in a mean joke, and the smile that people on television did when they wanted someone else to take off their clothes and the other person obliged. Nora said that even dogs smile, although Aximili had not had as much practice interpreting Euclid’s expressions and few television shows featured prominent dog actors. 

Peter’s smile was usually the warm smile, the welcoming smile, the smile of someone who was remarkably content. That didn’t seem disgusting to Aximili, especially since he knew that Peter had struggled emotionally in the past. His progress was admirable. He was performing that type of smile as he motioned Aximili into his home. 

“How are you, Ax?” Peter looked him up and down. “Are you keeping warm?”

Aximili suspected Peter was asking a question to make a statement. Humans did this sometimes when they were trying not to be rude. Marco often did it to be even more rude. Aximili looked down at himself, following Peter’s gaze. He was wearing a loose pair of purple and yellow “gym shorts” and a short-sleeved collared shirt with a small crocodile on the chest. He had gotten both items from the bag of clothing that Prince Jake said could no longer fit him. 

Aximili looked back up at Peter. “My ambient body temperature -- tem-per-uh-chur -- is adequate. Kwet.” He leaned to look around Peter and Nora waved at him from her place at the dining table. She was sorting through thin booklets and stacks of colorful paper. Nora was a teacher, and she frequently moved papers from one pile to another. Marco had explained she was grading student assignments, but the process seemed ridiculously inefficient for a woman as logical as Nora.

“Is Marco in his room? Hi-zuh roommm?” Aximili asked.

Peter put his hand on Aximili’s arm. Cassie often did this, and so did those who were young and often restless. Although this was an act that Andalites only did among their closest friends and family, Aximili was so accustomed to this human gesture, he was comfortable performing it himself. He put his hand on Peter’s arm in return. Peter’s eyes glanced down at Aximili’s hand, then came back up to his face, the wrinkles surrounding them deepening. 

“Marco’s not here right now,” Peter said, bringing his arm around to grasp Aximili’s shoulder. 

Aximili tensed. Why had Peter told him to come at this time if Marco wasn’t going to be there? It was more acceptable among humans to spend time with the parents of your romantic partner than it was for Andalites, who only did so if a formal union or reproduction was being contemplated. However, even humans didn’t typically spend time  _ alone _ with their partners’ parents, as far as Aximili could tell. 

Aximili’s single heart pounded so forcefully that he was illogically compelled to swallow. Peter and Nora were both highly intelligent and perceptive, for humans. Had they somehow ascertained that Aximili wasn’t a foreign exchange student? Had he left some sign of their activities on Peter’s computer? There was no way Aximili could have done something so careless and stupid that even the most capable human could trace him. Had they been infested? What would Prince Jake want him to do, if Peter and Nora had discovered his secret? Aximili knew he could demorph and disable them, but he was loathe to injure Marco’s family. They had become a reliable source of a wide variety of food. 

Peter tightened his grip on Aximili’s shoulder. Before he could free himself, Peter said, “It’s okay, Ax. Nora and I just wanted a chance to talk to you without Marco’s witty commentary.”

Peter led him over to the table and guided him into the chair next to Nora. Peter sat down on Aximili’s other side. Even though Peter had attempted to assuage Aximili’s concern, this seating arrangement only seemed to exacerbate his human body’s panic response. Why had humans, as predators, evolved such unpleasant responses to the mere possibility of danger?

Aximili jumped involuntarily at something brushing against his leg. He let out a sigh when he looked down to see Euclid standing up and pawing at his thigh. He reached down, picked up the small dog, and held him to his chest. Nora smiled at Aximili. This particular type of smile was a smile of gratitude, because unlike Marco, Aximili had never threatened to kick Euclid, even when he jumped on him. Aximili was becoming used to small, noisy animals who needed constant attention. 

He took one of Euclid’s soft, curly ears in his hand and rubbed the silky fur between his fingers. The weight of the small, warm creature against his chest eased some of the heavy tension that was filling Aximili’s limbs. He looked down at the papers and pamphlets laid out on the table to avoid looking at Nora and Peter.

_ UCLA Academic Scholarship _

_ Siemens Competition in Math, Science, & Technology _

_ National Action Council for Minorities in STEM _

Aximili opened his mouth, closed it, then ran his tongue back and forth along his top row of teeth. He looked back up at Peter, then at Nora. Both of them were still smiling. This type of smile was what Marco would probably call “a creepy smile.”

“I am not sure I understand,” Aximili said carefully.

Nora looked at Peter expectantly. Aximili glanced between them as they seemingly had a silent conversation, taking turns moving their mouths, but not actually intoning the words. He put his nose and mouth down on Euclid’s head, grateful that at least this small dog wasn’t as confusing as humans often were.

Finally, Peter cleared his throat. “Ax. We want you to know we care about you. You know that, right? I hope that at this point, even if you and Marco broke up or something… not that he’s said anything like that… but if you did, we want you to know. That we care.”

“Gosh, Peter, I thought you had fifteen years of experience at this kind of thing,” Nora said under her breath.

“You’re the teacher!” Peter hissed.

“Can I go home?” Aximili asked, his words muffled into Euclid’s fluffy head.

“That’s another thing!” Peter added, jabbing a single finger into the air the way Marco also often punctuated his words with gesticulations. “We worry that you’re not getting much adult guidance from your host family. Not to say they aren’t nice people -- you never talk about them, so how would we know, but…” Peter pulled his lips into a tight line and looked back down at Aximili’s shorts. “I just don’t think you’re a Lakers fan.”

“You are wrong,” Aximili said, puffing at Euclid’s poodle bouffant to keep the curls out of his mouth. Euclid lifted his head and began licking Aximili’s chin. “I think the Lakers will go all the way.”

“Well.” Peter brushed his already unruly hair from the back to the front. “Good guess.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Ax, sweetie, we aren’t making any judgements. We just wanted to offer our help, in case you need some direction for your future plans.”

“We all know Marco is underachieving,” Peter said in a more serious tone. “He may tell you it’s cool to not do your work and skate by on charm and excuses. But just because Marco doesn’t always make the best choices doesn’t mean you have to follow him. Peer pressure and all. Right, Nora?”

Nora leaned forward and placed her hand over Aximili’s, which was frozen in place on Euclid’s back. “We don’t know everything about your situation, but, Ax, you’re so smart and capable. I’ve had conversations with you about pure mathematics that I couldn’t have had with my professors in grad school. It would be a  _ crime _ if anything kept you from going to college.” She fanned out some of the booklets in front of her, showing materials from at least twenty different programs. “I know you’re only a sophomore, but it’s never too early to start on scholarships and applications. I don’t mind helping.”

“It’s literally her job,” Peter said. “She loves this stuff.”

“I’m not a counselor, Peter,” Nora said, but her voice and expression were soft. She smiled up at Peter from across the table, and he smiled back. Aximili’s insides felt like they were being twisted. His own parents would sometimes smile at each other like that, though without the accompanying mouth aspect. Nora turned that expression on him and Aximili felt like he was being crushed by all the pressure of the entire ocean. 

“I --” Aximili’s voice caught in his throat and he had to clear it and start again. “I truly appreciate your efforts.” He let Euclid down and pushed his chair away from the table. “I am sorry, but I have to go.”

Nora looked disappointed. Peter put his hand back on Aximili’s shoulder. “Listen, it won’t hurt anything to put in a few applications. We won’t tell Marco you’re thinking about your future. Plus, we ordered Chinese. It’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Aximili pursed his lips and looked back down at the booklets. Like most human tasks, they seemed simple enough. As long as Nora allowed him to “submit” the applications himself, Peter was right that it would do no harm. He pulled his chair back up to the table, opened one of the pamphlets, and returned Peter and Nora’s smiles.

* * *

_ May 2002 _

<Captain, you have an incoming message from Earth,> First Officer Menderash said from his post at the comm station. <The security level is such that I would recommend taking it in your quarters.>

Aximili surveyed the blank nothingness that filled the observation dome. He sighed. The  _ Intrepid _ would be in Z-space for another two days unless something shifted. They would be arriving in the Anati system before his next call with Marco was even scheduled. The distraction was so welcome it was shameful.

Central Command had finally sent Aximili to negotiate the terms of their reparations and reconstruction. For the entire trip, he had been replaying what he had been ordered to say, the offers he’d been authorized to make, the pressure he’d been told to put on the Anati. There was no angle he could find that didn’t make each imaginary dry run feel like a blade thrusting deeper. They sent Prince Aximili the Symbol to make it easier to swallow the same old Andalite tactics. He may as well have been a Controller, he felt so powerless and used.

<Thank you, Commander,> Aximili said as he passed. <The bridge is yours.>

Menderash bobbed a stalk eye in confirmation and resettled his posture to assert authority. Perhaps it was for the better Aximili took a break. The crew were more obedient to Menderash anyway. Menderash wasn’t troubled by the dead  _ flaar _ of a treaty Aximili was expected to wrap up and present to the Anati like it was a gift they should be grateful to receive. Menderash was former Intelligence. Menderash was used to the shining exterior of honor hiding the core of subterfuge and lies. Menderash had probably never been naive. 

Aximili closed the door to his quarters and set it to maximum opacity. Though he was the captain and had the largest quarters on the ship, including his own private grazing patch, there was little Aximili could do to make his quarters feel more like home without further humiliating himself. He had only been able to stay at his own scoop, with its personalized Earthly comforts, a few times since his promotion. Disgracefully, he felt more at home in Marco’s apartment than anywhere else. But Aximili couldn’t even plan his next visit to Earth, his negotiation and patrol schedules were so tight. 

When he opened the message from Marco, he wasn’t surprised that the tone was what Marco would freely admit was “pissy.” Aximili had a list of different excuses for each of their last few missed calls. Even if they did manage to connect through the technical difficulties, it was usually difficult to get Marco to connect, metaphorically. Marco missed physical contact. Aximili missed escaping from his duties to Earth. They both had a tendency to complain at the other, then resent that neither knew what to say. Neither of them were very good at “the long distance thing.”

Aximili skimmed the message and sighed heavily. This was already a fight. And it wasn’t the sort of fight Marco started because he was bored and wanted to make up afterward. Marco had found out about Nora.

Aximili paced his quarters a few times. He had been waiting for this to happen. He had expected to feel something more when it did. He mostly felt resigned, like he was fitting another mechanical negotiation into his schedule. He was the Captain-Prince of the Andalite fleet’s top-of-the-line, eponymous  _ Intrepid- _ class cruiser. He was en route to a yet another ruined planet. He was instrumental to the galactic peace talks, even if he was just a tool to be touted out as a pantomime of good faith from the Andalites to the other species.

Did he really have time to fight with his overdramatic, emotionally unstable quantum superposition of a boyfriend-slash-ex-boyfriend?

The light that indicated the attempt to connect only flashed for a moment before Marco appeared on the holographic display. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, vibrating in the way that meant he couldn’t keep his legs still. His expression hardened when his eyes focused on the projection of Aximili. Aximili knew this argument was serious. Rather than be unsettled by how infuriated Marco clearly was, all Aximili could think was that he wished he were there in person, even just to be yelled at. 

Despite that, or possibly because Marco was sincerely livid, he was mesmerizingly hot. His show was still filming, which meant he was working out, which meant he was showing off for paparazzi. He’d clearly just pulled his hair out of a ponytail and shaken it out. At this point, all Aximili wanted in the galaxy was to blow off his duties, bury both hands in Marco’s hair, and hold him down until he wasn’t angry anymore. Aximili wondered if Marco was doing this on purpose because he knew it had been months since they had seen each other. Was it an intentional gesture to show Aximili how out of reach he was? Or was it just that Marco always liked having an advantage and didn’t care if it conflicted with his actual feelings?

<You look good,> Aximili blurted, when he could no longer withstand Marco’s silent glare. 

Marco wrinkled his nose in disgust and practically snarled, “Did you even  _ read  _ my message?”

<Mostly,> Aximili said flippantly. <I could tell you would repeat the contents to me in person, though, so I didn’t want to ruin your delivery.>

Marco squinted. “Do you think you’re funny? You think that’s cute?”

<I haven’t done a double-blind study with a sufficient sample set, but the limited data I’ve gathered leads me to believe that there is a high probability that I am both funny and cute.> Aximili had imagined his response to this inevitable argument the way he had played out his upcoming negotiation. He knew the right things to say. But in the moment, all he could think was that prolonging the fight, even if he made it worse, would allow him to at least focus on  _ something _ other than the Anati.

“Maybe right now you should try something else. Like begging,” Marco growled. His voice had changed significantly in the last year. Marco believed he sounded sexier now, and while it made little difference to Aximili, the fact that Marco felt sexier meant that he was. Possibly, Marco also believed that he sounded more threatening, but that took more than believing in oneself.

As harsh as he was being, Marco was giving Aximili an opening. He wanted Aximili to play the part, to be contrite. It would validate his past choices if Aximili apologized. Aximili looked him straight in the eyes. <I’m sorry that you are upset.>

Marco bristled. “I've told you over and over, being ‘sorry I'm upset’ is shit. It just means you fucked up, you got caught, and I’m having a reaction. Boo hoo, if you don’t want me to get upset, stop fucking up or get better at lying.” 

Aximili didn’t intend to do either. <I am not actually apologizing. I told your father I would attempt to locate Nora. I don’t regret it. I intend to continue.>

Marco slammed his hands down on the arms of his chair. He gripped them so hard his knuckles went white. “You’re helping my dad  _ fuck his mistress _ !” 

<You mean his wife?>

“It didn’t count, it wasn’t legal, his  _ real wife _ wasn’t dead!” Marco’s voice escalated like a pressure valve being released and his voice cracked on the final word. He balled up his fists and turned his face away from the computer. Sometimes when he was very angry, he cried. He hated for people to see him cry. “You and my  _ fucking _ dad went behind my back and you’re both treating me like I’m some kind of psycho. No one knows what it was like.”

Aximili could see that Marco was about to snap. The part of Aximili that was responsible, that still couldn’t stand to fail, was telling him to regain control, to calm him down, that Marco was all he even cared about anymore. Another part, a part that hadn’t felt alive in a long time, was asking what he even had to lose and saying that there was more than one way to be in control. 

<I thought that was why we still do this.> Aximili and Marco never discussed why they continued their relationship. They broke up when it got too hard. They got back together when it got too hard to be alone. Neither of them acknowledged that sometimes it felt like they had no choice. 

Marco exploded from his chair in a flurry of movement and disappeared offscreen. His desk chair spun with the force of his sudden departure. Behind it, Aximili could see a small section of his bedroom. Clothing was hanging out of drawers and scattered on the floor. His bookshelf, which was mostly for decoration anyway, was half-empty. Its contents were lying on the floor in disarray, some open, some turned over with their pages smashed, and he’d entirely ripped the pages out of at least one volume. Aximili could only see a small section of Marco’s bed, but in just that small section were strewn four sexual stimulation or enhancement devices, which was not their proper place when not in use. This only confirmed what Aximili had suspected since he received Marco’s initial message. 

Marco finally returned to the terminal and if he had been crying, Aximili couldn’t tell. He had started the call with red-rimmed eyes and dark circles, but that could just denote a lack of sleep. “Was it your idea? Finding her.”

There may have been utility in keeping the truth from Marco, but there was no utility in lying to him. Aximili tried not to dwell on how typically Andalite it was that he felt that way. <Yes.>

“Do me a _ fucking _ favor and leave my family alone,” Marco warned. His voice sounded different now, but for a moment his tone sent Aximili spiralling back to a time when Marco didn’t make empty threats. Aximili hoped his sharp inhalation wasn’t audible over the Z-space comm. 

<You and I have different ideas of who is included in ‘your family.’>

Marco’s slammed his palms down on his desk. The holo projection shuddered and when it cleared, Marco’s face filled the screen. “You don’t get to decide, Ax! They’re not your family!” 

Aximili considered his next words carefully. Aximili considered how upset and distracted he would be if the quantum superposition collapsed back to “ex-boyfriend” while he was negotiating with the Anati. He considered if he wouldn’t prefer the distraction. He considered the potential delayed gratification of stoking the fire and letting it simmer until he got back to Earth and could put it out in person. His relationship with Marco had taught Aximili a lot about how to make a mess and clean it up later. 

<I attended Peter and Nora’s wedding. I saw how they cared for each other,> Aximili said, gratified that Z-space transmission stripped emotional tone from thought-speak. <Perhaps it is not for me to choose who comprises your family. But it should not have been your choice either. You may not ever admit you were wrong, but I will do what I think is right to make up for what you did.>

Marco flinched and he hissed like he’d been punched in the stomach. Aximili watched his fists clench and unclench, feeling like he’d entered a time distortion that made Marco’s reaction happen in slow motion. Marco looked up at his ceiling. Aximili could see each rough breath rise and fall in his chest. His shoulders started to shake and Aximili thought perhaps he was finally losing to furious, hateful tears. Instead his face split into a crooked smile and he started laughing. The laugh was harsh and hollow and familiar and made Aximili feel like he was finally home.

Marco shook his head, light chuckles still rasping in his throat. “That’s… that’s so _ fucking _ funny.  _ You _ , telling me I can’t admit I’m wrong literally in the same breath as you say you know what’s right. Like you  _ always _ do, you sanctimonious prick. Don’t bother giving an excuse for why you can’t call me next week.”

He ended the transmission.

Aximili was still for a moment, staring at the blank space where Marco’s face had been. He had hoped it would take longer for the loop to start back up.  _ Here is what the Andalite military will offer the Anati. Here is what we require from you in return. Your decimated planets have no choice, but do not worry. Andalites know best. _

No matter how different he felt, or what he chose to do when he could choose, Aximili could only be an Andalite. 

* * *

_ October 2004  
_ _ 3971.1.116 _

<You know, you don’t have to come with us. I’m a big boy; I can handle my own meetings,> Marco said.

<You are not large in either human or Andalite form. You are only slightly taller than I am,> Estrid observed. With an air of superiority, she added, <Although it is hard to tell, considering your posture.>

<Oh  _ yes _ , I have  _ so _ missed having an original flavor Andalite around to take everything I say literally,> Marco said, fixing a stalk eye on Aximili, who was trailing slightly behind them. <Ax, why did you have to grow up and lose your adorable, clueless charm? Who changed you? Was it me? Was it David Crane and Marta Kauffman? Was it Joss Whedon?>

<I would understand if you found Estrid more ‘adorable’ than me,> Aximili said to Marco privately. <We cannot all remain naive and untainted forever.>

<Hm, I think I prefer you tainted, though,> Marco said. Even though they were speaking privately, Marco had fallen back so he could brush his shoulder against Aximili’s.

Estrid made a rough, nasal sound. <It is no wonder the two of you have taken over the gossip streams. How can you be so disgusting in public?>

<She should see what we do in private,> Marco whispered to Aximili. Marco’s joy at being a tabloid sensation again bubbled up like a geyser, pushing Aximili’s apprehension out of the forefront of his mind.

Marco had insisted the next meeting with Estrid be in the city. The three of them were crossing the bridge from the political district to recreational district one. Unlike the other two cities, Naraya tended to have some level of activity even deep into the night. Aximili had at least convinced him to meet after the largest moon,  _ Erathli _ had set, when most family units would be having their evening runs and performing their rituals together. 

Of course, to conduct business at that time also telegraphed that you were attempting to be secretive. That, coupled with the fact that both Aximili and Estrid were the military and civilian equivalent of celebrities, and that Merulan would now be linked to them both meant that the civilian net was going to run wild with speculation. Andalites were too principled to authorize official tabloid-style journalism. This only made every civilian who was so inclined an amateur reporter with only their sense of honor and decency to govern what they voiced on public forums. All of this only made Marco more eager.

Estrid led them exactly to the place Aximili anticipated she would lead them. It was fashionable and exclusive, so of course it was where Estrid took them. They walked through the recently-opened thought-poetry venue, weaving between leafy sculptures and the occasional small group of patrons. The location was open and spacious, with generous sections demarcated by thematically-cultivated plant structures. Even considering the breadth of the space, it was usually uncomfortably populated with clusters of civilians. Each section was meant to be lingered in to appreciate a discrete emotion, concept, or short narrative vignette. It wouldn’t have been Aximili’s first choice as a place to discuss business. His mother’s work was featured, far off to one side. Even in the spot Estrid chose, which was meant to stimulate positive energy with imagery of a trickling stream over iridescent river rocks, Aximili could feel his mother’s piece about lost faith and reluctant obligation needling up his spine.

It was difficult for Aximili to pay attention to Estrid and Marco’s discussion, even though he wanted to. He thought that was possibly the point of Estrid bringing them here; she was testing Marco’s human attention span in a place she thought would impress and distract him. Little did she know, Marco only appreciated the arts when they involved him, were playable with a joystick, or could be used to support a seduction attempt. This fell into none of the above categories, so he was immune.

Marco and Estrid both produced portable holo pads to take notes. Aximili stood nearby, pretending to appreciate a blooming  _ pelilas _ that had been shaped into a multi-leveled waterfall. He had come, ostensibly, to look after Marco’s safety and assist him with keeping his cover as an Andalite. He did keep one stalk eye wary for onlookers and potential threats. But Aximili’s primary motivation for coming had been to observe Marco at work.

Aximili had always known that Marco took his craft seriously. He had stayed with him many times while he was actively filming his show. Some of his most pleasant memories after the war were the times Marco would apologize for blowing him off, lean up against him for hours memorizing his lines, ask him to run through them with him, then kiss his Andalite face when he was finally confident he was done for the night. 

Marco had rarely ever been able to focus on something he could actually be proud of, something he was good at  _ and _ enjoyed. Marco had taken some satisfaction in executing a brilliant strategy. But it had always been under a cloud of bitter obligation and the knowledge that his friends’ lives and the fate of humanity were in his hands. Working in entertainment let Marco embrace and accept those skills in a positive context.

Aximili had only ever seen that side of him in private. He had always wanted to watch Marco actually working on set. Marco had invited him, countless times, but Aximili had been fixated on discretion to preserve his career. He regretted it now that his career was in shambles and they gambled with their lives every time Marco went out as an Andalite. Compared to this, visiting Marco’s work as an old friend wasn’t indiscreet in the slightest.

<So the main issue we’re going to have here, I think, is resources. Mainly production staff. You guys don’t do money, which sucks, because I  _ have  _ money, so the issue will be finding people qualified and able to help us. It’s probably gonna be a skeleton crew situation with me as director and you as producer pulling most of the weight. But you’re  _ so  _ smart and talented, I’m sure you’re up to it.>

Estrid’s reaction to Marco’s business outline almost made Aximili laugh. Likely, she had assumed from his weak pitch that he didn’t know what he was doing. Marco had always worked best when he was underestimated.

<I don’t think we’ll have a problem with auditions. We have the lines of distribution to advertise. I think the overlap between people who subscribe to the Arts and Culture section of Forlay’s New Andalite Times and people who are into Earth media and might be interested in some subversive creativity is pretty wide. Probably we can at least get some stage hands and production assistants out of the ones who won’t make it as actors but still want to be a part of the first Andalite-produced fictional entertainment experiment.>

Coyly, Estrid said, <’Andalite-produced’ is a bit misleading, don’t you think?>

<You’re the producer, and you’re an Andalite,> Marco replied with a smile. Estrid, unexpectedly, smiled back. 

Marco looked down at his datapad and scrolled through some notes, making quick edits as he went. <Now, obviously I’m going to be clearing the story with you. You’ll have significant creative input.>

<I should hope so, considering what you’ve put forward so far,> she said.

<Well, sure, but I was still brainstorming. Now that I know this might actually be a thing, I’m gonna draft something up and have my friend Mertil take a look at it, spruce it up, make it seem like a real Andalite wrote it.>

<Mertil… Iscar-Elmand?>

<No, Myrtle, my grandma who lives in Pasadena. Of course Mertil-Iscar-Elmand. We’re tight. Anyway, Ax is his boss so he has to do what I say.>

<I am not Mertil’s superior officer,> Aximili interrupted, rubbing a velvety  _ pelilas  _ tendril between two fingers to observe the way it stained his fur. <I don’t have jurisdiction over Earth anymore.>

<Well, still,> Marco said dismissively, still scrolling through his notes. <He owes me like nine favors. Anyway, I can pay him. He probably needs it to support his unhinged misanthropic roommate or whatever you’d call Menderash, and it’s not like I’m using it here in Authoritarian Smurf Village.>

<Do you have ties to every prominent figure in the resistance?> Estrid said incredulously.

Marco sniffed arrogantly. <I’m  _ Marco _ the  _ Animorph _ ? I’m kind of a big deal? We’ve met before, but you were kind of distracted trying to wipe out two races of people and making out with honeypot over there.>

<I hope you remember that you still need my help,> Estrid muttered.

<And I hope  _ you  _ remember that you’ll never work for Forlay without me as an in,> Marco said smoothly. <You know, because of the whole crazy traitor bioweapons thing. That she wouldn’t know about if you hadn’t bragged to her about it.>

Estrid sighed bitterly and glanced at Aximili as if she expected him to sympathize. He pretended to be enraptured by the waves of descending curling tendrils sprouting from the three main blooms of the tree. The plant was difficult to actually appreciate with the distant undercurrent of his mother’s poetry still darkening the corners of his mind. 

He had felt it for long enough now that he knew she had recorded it after he had lost the  _ Intrepid _ . He remembered how she told him that the war had taken both of her sons from her, twice. This work had the same feeling her thought-speak had then. This poetry was about finding strength to continue fighting when you felt like you were being crushed by loss. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to. His mother had been able to do that. Elfangor had been able to do that. He knew many people who had been able to continue their work in the face of tragedy. He knew just as many who hadn’t. Aximili didn’t yet know which he was.

<What does your calendar look like for a hand of days from now?> Marco was asking. Estrid pawed at the ground impatiently and turned her holo screen toward him so they could synchronize their schedules.

<Marco, you seem to have this under control,> Aximili interrupted. Marco turned a stalk eye toward him but continued leaning over the two datapads, pointing at possible dates. <I have some duties to attend to at home. Please meet me there.>

<Yeah, dude,> Marco said, turning his tail blade over to wave Aximili off. <See you when I get home.>

When Aximili crossed the final bridge out of the city, he ran at full speed back to his scoop. Running alone didn’t have the same emotional balancing effect as running with other Andalites did, but at least he didn’t feel like he was trying to run away from himself. He took a short diversion to his feeding grounds to perform his evening ritual before going home.

It wasn’t dark -- there were still two moons shining through the top of Aximili’s scoop. Even so, he turned up the lights that lined his floor and his ceiling. He stood at his workstation, logged into the theoretically untraceable network his father had set up for Marco, accessed his communication terminal, put in his security codes, and initiated a call. It pulsed for a long time before anyone answered. Aximili hadn’t planned to, but it felt right to morph human while he waited.

He didn’t look much better than the last time they spoke, which had been months ago in Earth time. Aximili didn’t have a good handle on human aging, but Peter definitely looked older and more tired than he had since the last time Aximili saw him in person. Neither Marco nor Peter were capable of growing a beard that Marco would call acceptable, although Aximili was of the opinion that any hair made human faces more attractive. Peter’s current facial hair forced him to reconsider. Even though he knew Peter still wasn’t well, Aximili smiled what he hoped was a smile that expressed how grateful he was to see him. He wished that could be enough to help Peter the way Peter’s had once helped him.

Peter returned a soft, crooked ghost of his old smile and hot pressure filled Aximili’s chest. “It’s good to see you, Ax.”

“And you,” Aximili said.

“You look better,” Peter said. “I think. You were an Andalite last time.”

“Yes. I am feeling somewhat better,” Aximili said. “How are you?”

“Surviving. I’m still working on the Santa Ynez Z-Space Array, but I got tripped up on the funding. The grant I applied for fell through,” he said. A streak of Marco’s bitter smirk crossed his face. “It’s fine, though. They’ll eat crow when they realize that they shouldn’t just rely on the Andalite transponders and communications protocols. They’re not secure, they’re only reliable when it’s convenient for the Andalites, and they could blackmail us with them anytime. No offense.”

“None taken. You’re right,” Aximili agreed.

“Eva would be such a jerk if she heard you finally admit that,” Peter said ruefully.

Aximili smiled again, despite himself. “Don’t worry, Marco is doing a fine job of reminding me that I have been a fool. She wouldn’t be disappointed.”

Peter’s smile wavered a bit, and he blinked several times. “How is he?”

Aximili took a deep breath to try to contain the swell of warmth in his chest. “He is attempting to organize the first Andalite theatrical broadcast. He had a meeting with a potential producer today and he was so enthusiastic that he actually prepared. He may have even blown her mind. He was completely in his element. He is happy. I think you would be proud.”

“I am,” Peter said, pressing his lips together. “I am.”

They were quiet for a moment. Peter continued to look at Aximili fondly, in a way that reminded him of his own father. Aximili swallowed. “Have you spoken to Nora?”

Peter looked away from the terminal and waved his hand like he was waving away a fly. “You know, email,” he croaked. “Mostly me sending her long, rambling messages about my work. I couldn’t have built the first Z-space device without her, you know. And I know she reads them because sometimes she sends back corrections. I don’t think she’s back to teaching yet, so I guess you gotta scratch that itch somehow.”

“I’m sorry,” Aximili said.

“No, no,” he said, pulling his shirt up and wiping it down his face. He looked back at the terminal, his eyes bloodshot and his nose red. “I wouldn’t even know she was alive if you hadn’t tracked her down. I think she’s maybe not even mad about it anymore. That’s enough right now. Eva and I have coffee on Thursdays, when she’s not busy. Nora’s okay. You’re alive. Marco’s good. That’s enough.”

“Marco will be arriving home soon,” Aximili said.

“You better go, then, don’t want to get you in trouble,” Peter said.

“I can handle him. It was good to see you again.”

“Thanks for calling,” Peter said. “And thanks for telling me how he’s doing.”

“I hope to be able to call more often,” Aximili said. He looked over his shoulder at Marco, who had been lurking in the entrance to their scoop for several minutes. Aximili wanted him to know that he was aware. Marco tensed up like he’d been caught in a spotlight. Aximili turned back to the holographic display. “Goodbye, Peter.”

“Bye.”

Aximili turned to Marco, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Aximili sat down on the couch in his usual spot and turned sideways to face Marco. “You haven’t caught me doing anything wrong.”

“I know,” Marco said. 

Marco’s muscles unwound a bit and he came over to sit on the opposite end of the couch, his back against the armrest, leaving a wide gap between them. Marco looked down at his knees and didn’t say anything. Aximili began to feel so uneasy in the silence that he demorphed. They both fit on the couch easily, but when Aximili was fully Andalite, his hooves touched Marco’s feet. Marco pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Marco said finally, “how much stuff I don’t know because people are scared to tell me.”

<I am not afraid of your reactions,> Aximili said. <But sometimes your reactions are illogical and unpleasant and I prefer to avoid them.>

“Yeah, right,” Marco scoffed. He buried his chin into the crook of his elbow. His eyes pointed, unfocused, at the floor. “That’s like saying ‘I’m not homophobic! I’m not  _ afraid _ of gay people, I just hate them.’”

<I don’t agree with that analogy,> Aximili said.

“How long have you been talking to my dad?”

<I didn’t stop talking to your father just because you did,> Aximili said.

Marco nodded.

<You know, if you wanted to talk to him again, nothing is stopping you. He would welcome it.> Aximili studied Marco’s delicate features, his usually sharp expression that had fuzzed out like a bad television signal, his fingernails digging crescent moons into his arms. <I believe not having you in his life hurts him more than anything you’ve ever said or done.>

Marco turned his head, the fine point of his chin still pressing hard into his arm. Bursting into sudden motion the way he sometimes did, Marco pitched forward onto his hands and knees. He shoved Aximili’s legs aside so he could lie back against his lower body unobstructed.

“I’m trying,” he said finally. “I’ll talk to him when I get there. Now, can we do something else?”

<Do you have something in mind?>

Marco lifted his chin to look up at Aximili, upside down. “We could talk about your awkward relationship with Forlay.”

Aximili put his arm around Marco’s chest. <Keep trying, Marco.>


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains _explicit sex_ and alien drug use. But not sex under the influence of alien drugs.

MARCO

Estrid peered down at the leaves that Marco was fanning out in front of her. She looked back up at him skeptically. <Have you even  _ had illsipar? _ >

Marco rolled his eyes. <If Ax was human he’d obviously be a stoner until he got kicked off the football team, Tobias doesn’t like it, Ax’s dad is a classic burnout, and Forlay only uses it off by herself. So yeah, basically I’ve had it before.>

Estrid made an annoyed sound. The wide range of emotions Andalites could express just by breathing through their weird noses was still astounding. <You are nonsensical, as usual.> She took a stalk out of his hands and examined it close to her face. <These were harvested poorly, but the plants themselves seem to be of high quality.>

<Of course they are,> Marco said, laying the condescension on thick for that authentic Andalite vibe. <I stole them from Forlay.>

Estrid froze like her ancient ancestors were actual deer and the thought of Forlay’s wrath was a Mack truck. <We can’t consume  _ illsipar _ you’ve stolen from Forlay!>

Marco snorted. <Live a little, Ms. Covert-Operation-Halfway-Across-the-Galaxy-to-Deploy-an-Illegal-Bioweapon-Because-You’re-Pissed-About-Institutionalized-Sexism.>

<I would strongly prefer you stopped using my past to demean me,> Estrid grumbled. She held the bundle of leaves up to her nose and inhaled deeply, her stalk eyes flitting around like she was afraid of being caught. <But I suppose you have a point.>

She laid one cutting in front of each of them. Marco watched her crush it gingerly under her delicate hoof. 

<So I just… eat it? Or whatever?> Marco asked. <You got any pro tips like, eat a mango or cover the carb when you light up?>

Estrid gave Marco the sharp glance he was so used to receiving from Andalites. Marco returned the glare with a smile. She looked away and twirled her stalk eyes dismissively. <If you step lightly on the  _ illsipar _ , you will engage your nutrient-processing enzymes without actually consuming the leaves for a gentle, long-lasting effect.>

<So if I wanna get blitzed, I should stomp the hell out of it, is what you’re saying?>

<Maybe I should do the same, if I’m going to have to tolerate you in such a state,> Estrid said. Marco watched, with satisfaction, as she ground her hoof into her leaves a little more forcefully.

Carefully, Marco stepped onto a single leaf. He’d eaten as an Andalite before, but he still wasn’t used to the eerie flexing that started in the center of his hoof and traveled up his leg like the feeling when a shot burns all the way down to your stomach. As years of knowing Ax had well-established, Andalites didn’t have a sense of taste. There was some kind of distinction among different grasses, at least according to Ax when he took Marco out on the equivalent of Andalite dates. Clearly, Marco wasn’t refined enough to know the difference between  _ gelasic  _ and  _ escalic  _ or whatever, but he could feel the difference between grass and  _ illsipar, _ at least.

<When does this kick in?>

<The raw  _ illsipar _ digest converts to a  _ seregninoid _ when it osmoses from the nutrient adsorbers to the bloodstream. It acts as a hormone to both inhibit neurotransmitter uptake and slightly inflame the  _ tria _ gland, and since  _ seregninoids  _ aren’t processed by the  _ vastill _ they remain in the bloodstream until excr-->

<Whoa there, girl genius,> Marco interrupted. <How long,> he repeated slowly, <does it take to work?>

She whipped her tail blade fast enough that the air whistled. <It should already be taking effect.>

Marco shifted his weight from hoof to hoof to test his balance. He tipped his blade to see if he was still coordinated. As far as he could tell, he wasn’t space-high yet. 

<You know,> Estrid said, and Marco felt the resentment in her words, <my genius has nothing to do with my gender. My gender is an obstacle.>

Marco scoffed and looked up from watching his own hoof crush leaves. He dismissed his first few flippant responses, then locked eyes with Estrid. He could practically feel the cogs in his head grind to a stop and reverse course. <I get that, sorta,> he said, barely able to believe he was saying it. And then, because something in him felt the need to explain, he continued. <I have a complicated gender… thing. My human body’s wrong, in some ways. Ax says it’s easy for Andalites to fix, but you know humans. Backwards.>

Estrid’s ears perked up. <Interesting. Presumably, it would be insensitive for me to say that I find that enviable?>

Marco rolled his eyes. Of course it was pointless to try to talk to her about anything but herself. <Yeah, that’s pretty insensitive.>

She tipped her blade dismissively. <What I am trying to say is that you at least had the chance to become the person you wanted to be, among your people. Unless I wanted to live a life like, well like this --> She indicated Marco, presumably meaning his Andalite disguise. <I can never have the life I have earned.>

Marco rolled his eyes, bit his proverbial tongue, and didn’t ask her what exactly she’d earned. <Would you want to?> Marco asked instead. <Because you can.  _ Frolis  _ up a male morph, wait a couple hours, boom.>

<Becoming a voluntary  _ nothlit _ is taboo,> Estrid said. <Besides, I am not actually like you. I am not male. If I were, it would have been identified in early childhood and corrected.  _ I  _ am not the problem.>

<Well, this is exactly why I want you to double as producer and lead in our show. You’ll bring a level of authenticity to the role. Plus, you’re already a famous performer. Two birds, one stone.>

<What birds?> Estrid searched the sky with her stalk eyes. Marco shook his head and replaced her crunched up  _ illsipar  _ sprig with a new one. He was still on his first.

He had started to feel the effects by this point. Ax had prepared him for what to expect: increased empathy, lowered inhibitions, slowed reaction time, increased sensitivity to motion, heightened color perception. The latter two effects were easily observable. The pink and blue trees in the nearby forest were practically a rainbow, and each tiny motion of leaves in the breeze scintillated like glitter shifting in light. His own translucent fur was practically hypnotic. He ran his hand the wrong way up his back to watch the seemingly endless shades of blue refract the different colors of light from the suns and the two moons above.

<Is that why you spend so much time in Andalite morph?> Estrid asked. At Marco’s questioning stare, she elaborated, <Because your human body is incorrect?>

Had he been human, Marco would have frowned. He couldn’t come up with the appropriate Andalite body language to reflect how he felt about that question. Andalite gestures were too deliberate when he was actually feeling things instead of just acting. <It’s less about my human junk and more about my human brain,> he admitted. <Shit. I don’t even know if Ax gets that. This stuff makes you spill your guts.>

<Not everyone,> Estrid said, with an air of superiority. <But what do you mean?>

<You know what we went through. You went to Earth, you probably read my book, saw the  _ E! True Hollywood Story.> _

<I did one of those things.>

Marco laughed, once, in thought-speak. Estrid winced. <Well, human kids aren’t built for war. I don’t know that Andalite kids are either, no matter what Ax says about his bullshit training. He was only in the Academy for like a year anyway. Fuckin’ Ax.> Marco shook his head. <Hell, I’d probably be fucked even if I hadn’t been a child soldier. Thanks for the genetics, dad.>

<So you find that you have fewer problems with your mental health in Andalite morph? Isn’t that a failure to confront the issue?>

<Listen, this  _ is  _ how I confront the issue. We’ve always done this. We’d have gone even crazier if we didn’t. I can’t tell you how many times I forced Jake to morph dog with me just so he could keep it together for one more mission.>

The fur on Estrid’s chest and shoulders puffed up. <You are comparing morphing Andalite to morphing Earth animals?>

<Don’t get me wrong,> Marco said. <Andalite morph  _ is _ better. It’s a lot freakier to get frisky as a dog, if you know what I mean.>

<I have no desire to know what you mean. Please do not elaborate.>

<Anyway, Baseline Marco is kind of a nightmare, and Ax needs me to be better, especially since we tried the whole breaking up thing and it almost got him killed.>

<Aximili and I met up once, when he returned from Earth,> Estrid said. <He and I shared a gesture of human intimacy when I was on Earth, and I thought it was possible he might want to reconnect in that way. He did not.>

<Bragging that you kissed my hot boyfriend would work a lot better if I hadn’t been the one who told him to do it,> Marco said.

<You did?> She looked affronted.

<Yeah, haven’t you ever watched James Bond?>

<No.>

<Look, if we’re going to work together, we’re gonna need to fix these gaps in your education,> Marco said. She looked even more outraged. <So, were you disappointed you didn’t get to run at each other, with the whole dramatic musical swell and the sloppy makeout?>

Estrid attempted to look at Marco shrewdly, but he could see her focus wavering, probably because his fur was so fabulously iridescent. <I was not disappointed. Aximili and I have nothing in common. It almost makes sense he would prefer an alien.>

<Is that supposed to be a burn? Because it’s sad that Andalites are so shitty he has to go outside his species.>

<What about you?> Estrid said. <You are also ‘going outside your species.’>

Marco shrugged. <Yeah, but I’m not desperate, I’m just a freak.>

<While I think no one would dispute that fact, you are being disingenuous,> Estrid disdained.

Marco winced. He hoped she wasn’t catching on. <Yeah, maybe. Guess if you want to understand the mysteries of interspecies attraction, you’ll have to perform an independent study.> Marco leaned toward her and made eye contact, holding her gaze for far longer than she’d ever allowed him to. She was pretty, he knew he was hot; it wouldn’t be so bad if his attempt to distract her was a little more distracting.

Estrid made a disgusted expression, with accompanying weird nose sound. <I will continue to go much further than is required of me and tactfully ignore your lewd and insulting… everything.>

At least the distraction worked. Marco sighed dramatically. <This was supposed to be a meeting about business.>

<It was  _ you  _ who brought  _ illsipar _ to a business meeting, and it was  _ you  _ who consumed so rapidly, you were unable to focus,> she said haughtily.

<Yeah?> Marco challenged. <Wanna test your perfect focus, you fuzzy blue Einstein?>

<The human Einstein, while a genius by Earth standards, could hardly rival an Andalite child’s knowledge of physics.>

<Yeah, you’re more of an Oppenheimer anyway,> Marco said. <So I guess that means you don’t want to see these Apex-level classified documents that I’ve been having trouble deciphering.>

Estrid jerked to attention. <How could you be trusted with such materials?>

<I’m friends with a spy whose main motivator is spite and we respect that about each other,> Marco said. <Come inside so I can demorph, and I’ll show you what I’ve been looking at.>

Marco led Estrid into his scoop. Ax was stretched out along the entire length of the couch, his tail hanging over one couch arm and his head resting on his folded arms on the other side.

<I am working,> Ax said. There was an episode of  _ General Hospital  _ on the TV.

<Uh huh,> Marco said, demorphing. <Is Laura out of her coma yet?>

<Yes, but she has amnesia. Again. It is an emotional time. Hello, Estrid.>

<Hello, Prince Aximili,> she replied, barely acknowledging him because all of her eyes were too busy roving around Ax’s scoop, taking in his eclectic mix of human and Andalite possessions. Reluctantly, like something disgusting was stuck to her hoof, she said, <Thank you for allowing me into your home.>

<I didn’t,> Ax said, turning back to his soaps. <Marco did.>

Retrieving his datapad from the table next to Ax, Marco slid his hand down Ax’s back, stroking the extra soft fur between his shoulder blades. Ax shivered and looked up at Marco. If Marco hadn’t just morphed off the effects of the  _ illsipar _ , he’d probably feel pretty sappy about the way Ax looked at him for a second. “Who taught you manners?”

<My mother,> he said. Marco scoffed. Ax looked at Estrid. <That was a joke. A humorous statement meant to incite amusement in the listener. The subcategory of this joke was irony, because my mother is barely civil.>

<I know what a joke is,> Estrid seethed. She waited a beat, and it was actually pretty good comedic timing. <But thank you for the explanation. I appreciate being included.>

“I’m gonna show Estrid some stuff you don’t know I have. You wanna take a walk or something, Prince Aximili Who Has No Idea His Family and Alien Boyfriend are Embroiled in an Anti-Military Conspiracy?”

<I am not listening. I am too engrossed in my work.> To prove it, Ax began rewinding the part of his show Marco and Estrid had been talking over.

Marco walked back over to Estrid with his datapad. “Prince duties,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the stress.” Even though Ax was either feigning or genuinely disinterested, Marco engaged a privacy partition between them and the main part of the scoop and set it to be sound-proof and eighty percent opaque. If Ax got bored, he could pretend he was watching Marco in the shower or something.

<Is Aximili alright? When we met last year he was passionate about his assignment.>

“Dunno,” Marco said, back to his status quo of not being straight with anyone about anything ever, in any context of the word. 

He stuck his holographic display to the forcefield wall so the both of them could see it and commanded the screen to enlarge about four times its handheld size. He went through the multistage authentication process then stepped aside so Estrid could take his place. To start her off, he pulled up the most recent summary he had compiled for Menderash.

“Let me know when you’re up to speed,” he said.

<I’ve got it,> she replied almost immediately. 

She dismissed the report to survey the data dumps Marco had been analyzing for over a year. At least, the ones he specifically wanted her input on. Her gaze intensified as she began opening reports, absorbing the thought-based data much more quickly than Marco was able to process it. He crossed his arms tightly, as if that could hold in his derisive comments. It was a lot easier to not be a rude asshole when he was a high Andalite. Anyway, what was he going to do, make fun of her because she could read faster?

Estrid took a wobbly step back. Marco glanced at the report she paused on and had to swallow back a victory cheer. 

<I recognize this encryption style,> she said.

“Can you crack it? I managed some of the correlated data, like this report --” He pulled up another and only had to wait a millisecond for Estrid to catch up.

<This was written by Gonrod,> she confirmed.

“Hell yes,” Marco said under his breath. “I thought so, which is why I was pretty sure this main report --”

<Is Arbat’s,> Estrid finished. <Yes, I will be able to decrypt this. I thought I had read all his records after his death. I should have known our mission was part of something larger. I have been such a fool.>

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all tools for someone else to use. Get cracking.”

Estrid shot a glare at him. <Is that an attempt at humor?>

“Sure, if that makes you feel better.”

Estrid waved her hand at the screen. <Done.>

They opened the report at the same time, downloading the data straight into their brains. Marco shut his eyes. These reports were easier to process as an Andalite, but he needed to be in his own body to deal with Estrid and block out the worry and feelings of exclusion Ax was trying to bury under his soaps. Eventually, the data sorted itself out into something comprehensible.

Arbat’s report, as expected, was about Visser Three, whom he referred to inconsistently throughout the document as “the Visser,” “the Abomination,” and “War-Prince Alloran.” He had collected intelligence about the movements and activities of the Visser -- Marco checked the date of the report and did a quick conversion -- in 1995, noting the transfer of control of Earth from Visser One to Visser Three. 

Estrid recoiled, her disgust and anger sparking in the air, palpable even in Marco’s human body. <Arbat was in active communication with Visser Three.>

“Yep,” Marco said darkly. “And this was years -- well, I guess one of  _ your years _ \-- before the ‘assassination’ mission Arbat planned and ‘executed.’”

<This is not in line with protocol. Intelligence staff were not in communication with Yeerks, only the head of High Council, under strict diplomatic supervision -->

“Estrid, that’s bullshit and I know it, because my mom was Visser One’s host. We’ve known Andalites did under the table negotiations for a long time.”

Estrid shut all four of her eyes, took in a quivering breath, and opened them again. <Arbat was my mentor. Even when I knew he was a criminal, I believed at least he had righteous motives. How could he communicate directly with the monster who stole his brother’s face?>

Marco pursed his lips. He wasn’t under the influence anymore, but so far, Estrid had responded to his vulnerability. “It’s the worst feeling in the world, and it’s also kind of addicting,” he admitted. “For like a year, I lived for the next time I could see Visser One. It made me sick how much I wanted it. And every time, it was like watching my mother being dragged out of her grave so I could have the opportunity to maybe kill her for good.”

Estrid stared.

“What I’m saying is, I get how Arbat could do it. I negotiated with Visser One, too.” 

Estrid switched back to the report Gonrod had composed. <This one does not reference any collusion with Visser Three. It is dated almost two seasons later.>

“Yeah,” Marco said. “It’s hard to tell how much Gonrod knew from what he wrote here. Any chance you might still be in touch? Are you friends on Andalite MySpace?”

Estrid made a disgusted face. <Of course not. Gonrod is a disgrace. And I was… strongly encouraged to distance myself from covert activities for the success of my morph dancing career.>

Marco snorted. “Good job.”

<I have his old comm channel protocols, though. They’re probably the same. He was always terrible at communications and lax with security. You could track him down with those, if you knew what you were doing.>

“Cool, can you leave that and Arbat’s encryption keys?” Marco requested. “Thanks for all your help, you truly are as gifted as you constantly say you are. Hey, I have to make a private call, but I’ll be in touch about our project. Wow, we didn’t get anything done today. Take some  _ illsipar _ for the road.”

Estrid’s fur ruffled, but she complied with his request, addressed Ax with an overly formal farewell, and departed.

Marco collapsed onto the sofa, sprawling out across Ax.

<Mission accomplished?> Ax asked as Marco rubbed his thumbs hard into his eye sockets.

“Yeah, not that you know anything about it,” Marco said, his voice trailing off into a light moan as Ax rubbed the blunt edge of his tail blade into a tension point along Marco’s shoulder blade.

<She is still exhausting,> Ax observed.

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t believe all the personal shit I had to tell her to get her where I wanted.”

<Oh no, you had to talk about your feelings,> Ax mocked. <Will you be needing a nap before you call Menderash to tell him that your plan worked?>

“No, but I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to, say, string me up from a tree and work out some frustrations.”

<It’s true that you  _ have _ never said no to that particular proposition,> Ax said noncommittally. 

“You know, there was a minute there I thought I might make out with Estrid,” Marco said, his voice a low rumble. “For the plan.”

<And then we would have that in common,> Ax said disinterestedly, still pretending to focus on his show.

Marco blew out a sigh and leaned back into Ax’s lower body. “Alright, I get it. Maybe later.”

He dismissed all the files on his holoscreen and pulled up the communications program, ran through all the usual encryptions, and engaged Menderash’s comm link. 

Menderash’s expressionless but somehow still disagreeable face filled Marco’s pad. <Yes?>

“Just wanted to let you know that I did it. I got Estrid to help me with those Apex-level files -- they were definitely Arbat’s. I’ll be decrypting the rest and compiling a report for you soon. She also got me contact info for Gonrod, which she said we can use to trace him.”

<We can,> Menderash confirmed. <Forward me the data and I will triangulate his location.>

Marco lowered his voice. “Ash, I haven’t read everything yet, but I have a really bad feeling about this.”

<And when you assumed this was all just a plot to have Aximili murdered, you felt good about it?>

“I don’t know what I thought back then, Ash. Probably that we were gonna die in space and our spy hobby was just a way to pass time until the end.” Marco glanced over his shoulder up at Ax, who was very obviously not watching  _ General Hospital  _ anymore. Marco made an apologetic half-shrug

<Maybe it still is,> Menderash said cryptically. 

Marco felt Ax shudder beside him and scooted to the other side of the couch. “So, find Gonrod, and then what?”

<So far the tactics we have used have been very Andalite Intelligence,> Menderash said. <It may be time for a more human approach.>

Marco lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”

<I cannot work on exposing Andalite military secrets constantly. Sometimes I also read reports from your United States Central Intelligence Agency.>

“Oh of  _ course _ that’s what you do for recreation. How  _ does _ Mertil contain all the fun and delight you bring to whatever kind of relationship you have? Of course, I would never speculate. Please  _ don’t _ feel the need to tell me if you crazy kids are making it work. I certainly don’t have tips.”

Menderash ignored him, as expected. <I am only suggesting that surprisingly, humans may be more skilled at certain things. For instance, when I was held in military custody, nothing so horrific as restraining me and simulating drowning was performed. This technique would be very effective against an Andalite captive.>

“Wow, okay, Ash, I’ll definitely take that into consideration and I definitely won’t tell Forlay you said that. Anything else?”

<Jeanne Gerard may have further insight on possible interrogation techniques. I can forward you her comm link.>

Marco groaned. “Sounds good, okay. Great catching up and learning more about you.”

As usual, Menderash disconnected without saying goodbye. Marco puffed out a long breath and leaned back into the sofa.

<Please do not tell me if you torture Gonrod,> Ax said sincerely.

Marco put a hand on Ax’s deer thigh, hopefully reassuringly. “Dude, I’m not planning on torturing Gonrod. Mind if I call Jeanne to get this all out of the way?”

Ax unpaused  _ General Hospital  _ and made a “feel free” gesture. Menderash had already forwarded Marco Jeanne’s contact information, so he engaged the link. The indicator light blinked slowly, so many times that Marco assumed he wasn’t going to get an answer. When someone finally did pick up, Marco sat up and broke into an involuntary grin.

“Sarge!”

Santorelli grinned back and Marco felt a nostalgic pull in the pit of his stomach. “Marco! How’s space treating you?”

“Man, still an unbelievable number of plants and condescending aliens.”

“And how  _ is _ Ax?”

<Here,> Ax answered. <And I am fine.>

Santorelli blushed and made a face like a kid caught misbehaving, and Marco laughed. “What’s up with you, Sarge? My mom said you and Jake were working together again but I can’t get ahold of him -- what’s new -- and I didn’t know how to get up with you.”

“You didn’t know that Jeanne and I are roommates?”

“What?” Marco smirked. “You are actually a plant and your sun is assholes.”

“What can I say?” Santorelli said breezily, brushing his hair back behind his ear. It fell right back into his eyes. Marco licked his lips. “I’m a man who needs people around who make me look like a saint, comparatively.”

“Saint Santorelli, patron saint of too many chances.”

“Marco, don’t make me blush.”

“Saint Santorelli,” Marco said, lowering his voice, “Saint of rock-hard --”

“God, Marco,” Santorelli groaned, “Your boyfriend is literally right there.”

“Abs,” Marco finished, beaming wickedly. Santorelli shook his head, but still didn’t stop with his beguiling crooked smile. “Anyway, Ax doesn’t care.” Marco glanced at Ax, who turned quickly back to the TV to pretend he wasn’t still eavesdropping. “He’s working.”

Santorelli sighed and blew a piece of hair out of his eyes. “You’re still shameless.”

“It’s who I  _ am _ ,” Marco said dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. “So, fill me in, what’s up with you and Jake? Another morphing ops thing like how you two met?”

“Jake was gonna go back to that, but he talked to Cassie --”

“Always a recipe for trouble.”

“And he and I talked, and he felt like going back to the DOD was too much like old times.”

“And so you opened a dog kennel for lost causes because you can’t live without a project.”

Santorelli laughed and Marco remembered how he both hated and loved how sincere this man was. He hadn’t realized how much he’d actually missed him. “Surprisingly, you’re not far off. Cassie hooked us up with a licensed therapist --”

“For Jake?”

“Stop interrupting,” Santorelli said, his deep voice lilting up into a slight whine. “But, uh, yeah. Anyway, this therapist has been specializing in post-Yeerk War techniques and they helped us start a kind of morph therapy program for morph-capable former Controllers. Like my cat naps, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. You fucking dork.” It was weird how seeing Santorelli made Marco feel warm, but remembering the  _ Rachel _ made his insides feel like ice. “That’s funny, though, I was just talking about this with someone else. Is it working?”

“We’ve only been doing it for a couple months, but our first group is making really good progress. And Jake takes to therapy a lot better when it’s not expressly  _ for him.  _ Cassie and your mom have both helped with promotion, so we’re probably gonna get more funding so we can keep it going, hire more therapists, and maybe expand. _ ” _

“Huh,” Marco said. 

He waited for the old wave of resentment that used to wash over him when anyone would mention Secretary for Intergalactic Peace Cassandra Mason, or when his mom would get back from some gig lobbying for increased government funding for ex-host relief. Something about those things made his usual  _ Entertainment Weekly _ features seem a little underwhelming. Shockingly, the resentment didn’t come.

“That sounds… really good,” he said. “Totally the kind of thing you should be doing if you’re not gonna be a baker. Still, I’ve never seen anyone look so good in a hair net.”

Ax placed his chin on Marco’s shoulder and Marco jumped. He hadn’t noticed Ax had been morphing while they were talking and now he was fully human. He seemed to study Santorelli over Marco’s shoulder.

Santorelli raised an eyebrow, but shrugged it off and continued, “Maybe someday. Right now, this is helping me as much as any of the other former Controllers.”

“Well,” Marco said, trying to ignore Ax’s warm breath on his cheek and neck. “It’s been nice catching up, but I did call for Jeanne, not you.”

“She’s not here right now.” Santorelli grinned sheepishly and Marco felt his chest grow hot. He wondered if Ax felt it too, since Ax’s cheek was basically touching his neck.

“Tell her I called, I guess.”

“Will do. Bye, Marco.”

“Bye, Sarge.”

Marco dismissed the comm link and set his pad aside. He turned his head so that his nose and lips grazed the soft skin of Ax’s cheek. “What’re you doing?” 

Ax shivered at the puffs of breath across his face and smiled, presumably enjoying the tactile experience. He was already reclining into Marco’s side to get low enough to rest his chin on Marco’s shoulder. It didn’t take much for him to lean his shoulder against Marco and use his size advantage to push Marco down into the arm of the couch. Marco craned his neck back and pulled his hair to one side to give Ax better access to his neck. 

Between grazing his teeth along the muscle in Marco’s neck and sucking hickies into the hollow where his neck met his shoulder, Ax said, “Santorelli is very attractive.”

Marco chuckled, and it turned into a low moan as Ax licked and nibbled at his ear lobe. “Did you really just morph human so you could scope my side piece?”

“Yes,” Ax said. “That was the only reason.” 

He leaned back so he could pull Marco’s shorts off and part his knees. Marco buried both hands in the soft coils of Ax’s hair, trying to guide his mouth down. Instead, Ax grabbed both of Marco’s wrists and pinned them against the arm of the sofa. Marco grinned. He pivoted his hips up to grind against Ax through his clothes. Ax was already hard.

“You marking your territory or something?” Marco balled his hands into fists and strained against Ax’s grip. In human morph, Ax had no trouble keeping Marco in place. “I guess I get how you weren’t threatened by Estrid. Obviously, you’re more secure than I was at fifteen. We should all hope. But Sarge, huh? Totally understandable.”

“Shut up, Marco,” Ax said. He pressed his erection against Marco, the fabric rough against Marco’s dick. 

Marco groaned through gritted teeth. “Come on, take off your pants, let’s get to it.”

Ax clamped a hand over Marco’s mouth. Marco gasped sharply through his nostrils. Ax leaned his face down close and, low in his throat, repeated, “Shut  _ up,  _ Marco.” 

Marco groaned into Ax’s hand, his eyes rolling back with the wave of heat that crested over him. Ax removed his hand, flattening his palm against Marco’s cheek, caressing down his face, his fingers lingering briefly, lightly around Marco’s throat. Marco writhed underneath him, but Ax leaned back again and repositioned so he could finally take Marco’s dick in his mouth.

Ax gripped Marco’s hips to keep him still, but Marco whined and pivoted up into Ax’s mouth anyway. Ax lapped along the underside of Marco’s cock, then along each side of his shaft before enveloping Marco’s dick fully in the heat of his mouth. Marco threaded his fingers through Ax’s soft, thick hair, willing himself not to pull Ax down or thrust into his face. Ax was really the only person he ever gave that much consideration, but also Ax’s lifelong oral fixation meant he didn’t have to do those things to get off.

Ax knew instinctively what Marco wanted, or maybe he knew  _ psychically _ , or maybe it was just that they’d been doing this semi-regularly for five years and Ax had basically invented the best way to fuck him. Ax knew how long and hard he should suck and when he should switch to circling his tongue around the head of Marco’s cock. He knew when to keep doing what he was doing until Marco’s breaths were ragged and all he wanted to do was beg for Ax to actually fuck him. He bit his lip to keep from telling Ax what to do.

Ax could read him well enough. He traced a fingertip down from the base of Marco’s dick along his slit. Ax pressed the pad of his finger against the opening of his front hole. Marco made a pleading moan, and Ax pushed his finger in. Ax thrust into him a couple times, testing to see how wet Marco was before a second finger joined the first. He started stroking in time with sucking Marco off. Marco’s rough breaths turned into growls and he came, his muscles contracting around Ax’s fingers, and his dick still throbbing in Ax’s mouth. 

“Mmmnnn,” he whined, cupping Ax’s jaws in his hands and pulling him back up so they were face to face. Ax kissed him and Marco tasted himself in Ax’s mouth, salty and tangy and sweet. He wrinkled his nose and swiped the back of his wrist across his mouth. Ax settled with his face in the crook of Marco’s shoulder and his thigh pressed into the still-pulsing heat of Marco’s crotch. 

“Is he better than me?” Ax asked, his breaths against Marco’s neck sending waves of shivers through Marco’s whole body.

“Sarge? Not at that. Why?”

“Is he bigger?”

“He’s like seven feet tall.”

Ax’s hand was around Marco’s throat again, his long fingers still slick from being inside him. He didn’t apply much pressure, but it was enough that another hot stab of arousal drove up through Marco. Ax pressed his thigh into Marco’s still-sensitive dick and Marco moaned. 

“Is he?” Ax repeated.

“Yeah, but like, you don’t have to be jealous, he’s like an actual human puppy. He’s fun for a while, but I wouldn’t want him around all the time. And it’s not like you’re small, I mean, you’re part Jake and we all know --”

“I am not jealous,” Ax interrupted. He pushed up off the couch, ignoring Marco’s disappointed groan. He took Marco by the wrist, pulled him up on legs that still felt like overdone noodles, and led him to their bedroom.

“Pick out one of your penetration devices,” Ax ordered while he undressed, finally freeing his own cock

“I want  _ you _ to fuck me,” Marco whined.

“I intend to,” Ax said. “Do it. Something sizable.”

Marco crossed the room to his stack of suitcases, pulled out one of his carry-ons, opened it, and surveyed his entire bag of dicks. No one could ever accuse him of coming to space unprepared. He looked back over his shoulder at Ax, who was on his knees on the bed, slowly stroking himself. Marco swallowed, another jolt coursing through him like his dick was a lightning rod. 

“For me or you?” Marco asked.

“You,” Ax said.

“Front or back?”

“Front.”

Marco chose a big, dark brown dildo that was modeled after some porn actor he’d met once at a party he’d attended incognito. It was surprisingly close to the real thing. He grabbed a few condoms and some lube, and joined Ax on the bed.

Marco was settling onto his knees and elbows in front of Ax when Ax said, “On your back.” 

Marco rose, turned around, and grinned mischievously up at Ax. “Someone’s bossy today.”

Ax, clearly fighting back a smile himself, rolled his eyes and shoved Marco down into his ludicrous pile of pillows. Ax pulled Marco’s legs apart again, this time pushing his knees up until they were practically touching his ears. Ax looked thoughtful, grabbed a couple pillows, and tucked them under Marco’s back.

“I’m so fucking horny, you’re killing me,” Marco complained.

“I am shocked no one has yet,” Ax snapped back. 

Marco finally heard the sound of a condom being opened and the snap and squirt of the bottle of lube. Another careful finger massaged his asshole, loosening him up until it could slip inside him. Marco took a deep breath and sighed reflexively while Ax prepped him. Another finger joined the first, stretching him, opening him up. Maybe there was a third finger, Marco could never tell at this stage.

He groaned deep in his chest when Ax replaced his fingers with his cock. Marco heard then felt another cold squirt of lube and Ax thrust into him, slow at first. It was just enough for Marco to start getting into the rhythm before Ax buried himself up to the hilt and stopped. Marco groaned and clawed his fingernails across Ax’s lower back. Ax hissed and Marco felt his dick twitch inside him.

Ax gripped Marco’s hips and pulled him closer, driving himself in deeper. Marco gasped. He watched Ax lube the dildo and give it a quick handjob. Ax slid the head along Marco’s dick, sliding the shaft up and down him, then pressed the thick head of the toy into the entrance of his front hole. Marco felt way more resistance than usual with Ax already inside him.

“Shit shit shit, fuck,” Marco hissed. “Hold on.” 

Ax stilled and waited for him, his right hand steady on Marco’s hip. Marco took a few deep breaths and peered down at Ax, still deep inside him, the silicone cock poised to enter as soon as he gave the word. Ax was biting his lip, his darkened eyes flicking back and forth between Marco’s face and the action.

“Fuck. You’re not jealous,” Marco breathed. “You’re into it.”

“You are still the most intelligent human I know,” Ax deadpanned.

“Fuck.” Marco wound one hand into the sheet and grasped Ax’s lower back hard with the other. “Okay.”

Ax pushed the dildo into him. The head crested past the tight ring of muscle inside him and a raw sound Marco didn’t even know he could make escaped his throat. He buried his face into the pillow next to him, panting, stars sparkling along the rims of his vision. He let out a single, weak laugh, realizing that a normal person might describe this feeling as “like being ripped in half.” Marco knew from experience that this felt way better than that.

Ax pressed a warm hand into Marco’s cheek and Marco looked up at him. Ax was at least thirty percent concerned and at least sixty percent super fucking horny. The other ten percent was probably hungry. He was still Ax.

“I’m good,” Marco assured. “It’s good. Just, fuck, it’s a lot.”

“Can I move?” Ax asked. Marco took another deep breath and nodded. 

Ax started off slow again, but it felt like he was fucking him hard and fast. Eventually, he was, and Marco was keening desperately with every move he made. Marco let go of the sheet and draped the back of his arm across his face. Ax didn’t stop pounding into him, but Marco felt Ax’s hand encircle his wrist and pull his arm down. Ax guided his hand to the dildo filling up his front hole.

“Fuck yourself,” Ax commanded. “I want to feel it moving against me.” 

Marco couldn’t comply immediately because the request was so hot, his insides melted and he had to wait out the surging waves of his second orgasm. Panting, tingling, and so overloaded he didn’t even know if he could, Marco pulled the dildo almost all the way out. Pushing it back in was almost as mind numbing as the first time. Marco could only manage one thrust for every two of Ax’s, but it was enough that he came again, or maybe he’d never stopped coming the second time and it was just a super orgasm. His screams were loud enough that the tactical brain somewhere deep underneath his sex brain worried that his cover was going to be blown. He buried his face in his pillow to muffle himself until Ax was done. 

Marco clenched tight around Ax when he gave his final thrust. He could feel every spasm of Ax’s own orgasm. Ax rested inside him for a few seconds, his face on Marco’s knee while he rode out the last few pulses of his cock. When Ax pulled out, the dildo came with him and Marco nearly screamed again at the feeling of being utterly emptied out.

Ax collapsed next to him, his body clammy and cold compared to Marco. Marco stared up at the sky through the top of the scoop, everything numb and tingling and oversensitive. The sky was the deep red of night and another moon had joined the two from earlier in the evening.

Marco turned his head to look at Ax. His breaths were still a little quick, but they were deep like he could’ve been sleeping. Marco put his hand on Ax’s cheek. Ax opened his eyes halfway. He put a hand on Marco’s wrist to keep it there and pressed his mouth into Marco’s palm. Marco let Ax wait it out like that until he had to demorph. 

When Ax was an Andalite lying next to him, Marco cleared his throat. His voice came out hoarse. “Wanna talk?”

Ax’s stalk eyes did a quick spiral, taking in the perimeter of the room. Marco had never seen another Andalite do this gesture. He’d always taken it as some sarcastic “looking for hidden cameras” thing that only Ax did. As long as he didn’t think about how he was the only person in the galaxy who completely understood Ax, that was really cute. <Surely the  _ illsipar _ has worn off.>

Marco rolled his eyes back at Ax. He took one of Ax’s hands and threaded their fingers together. “You finally fucked some sincerity into me. Do you regret it?”

<What do you want to talk about?>

“You. You okay?” Marco smiled when Ax shuddered and actually moved to get up. Marco was still holding his hand and pulled him back down. Ax didn’t resist. Which was good, because Marco’s limbs still felt like ghosts and he wasn’t in any shape to wrestle an Andalite. “You’ve been weird and depressed all day. And you know I like when you’re sexy like that, because obviously. But maybe it kinda feels like you’re exerting control for less fun reasons. Sound right?”

Ax sighed deeply. <I wish you would stop. It isn’t even about my career anymore. Now I am just worried about you.>

“I know, I’m in too deep,” Marco agreed. “And I know you’re worried. But I can’t stop. And if I’m right about where this is leading, you wouldn’t want me to stop.”

<You are planning to interrogate Gonrod. He is a coward, but he is a seasoned veteran and your tailfighting is…>

“Less than stellar?” Marco suggested. “Leaves room for improvement? A creatively ineffective approach?”

<I was thinking embarrassing, pathetic, and sad.>

“I’m hot, smart, and funny, Sporty Spice, I can’t be good at everything.”

<Please let someone else do this.>

“There isn’t anyone else. At this point, no one besides Menderash would understand what we’re doing. Even Menderash isn’t as familiar with the things that happened on Earth. And I don’t know that I trust any non-Animorphs to do it.” 

<I wish I could go with you,> Ax said resentfully.

“You can’t.”

<What if I quit?>

Marco narrowed his eyes. “Quit what?”

<I could resign my commission. My position is a meaningless title to keep me in my place anyway. We could leave. We could go back to Earth and live openly there like you’ve always wanted.>

Marco suddenly felt like his head was spinning like Beetlejuice or Linda Blair or Meryl Streep in  _ Death Becomes Her _ . He sat up and faced away from Ax, looking up again at the alien sky. Earth was up there somewhere, in the constellation that shared Ax’s name. 

“Too late, that offer expired,” Marco snapped. “Anyway, you’re just trying to mess with my mind. I know that’s not what you want and I know how well it’d work out. For one, high command already tried to kill you once, you think they won’t try again if you peace out to shack up with your pet human on Earth? Which, by the way, will end up colonized just like Leera and Anati.”

<I am tired of being helpless. At least if we went back to Earth, I will have made the choice.>

“I can’t believe I’m the person having to tell  _ you  _ this, but this is bigger than you and me. This is your people, your culture, the whole galaxy, suffering under tyranny. You’re the one who knows right from wrong, Ax. I’m just the guy who sees the way to get there.”

Ax leaned over the edge of the bed and put his hooves down next to Marco’s feet. Marco looked up at him. He was smiling, just slightly. <I hate that you’re finally developing a sense of duty. This is not the Marco I fell in love with.>

Marco shoved Ax’s shoulder. “Shut up, man.” 

Ax nudged Marco back and they sat, shoulder to shoulder, for a couple minutes. <Will you hold off on interrogating Gonrod until we have some time to train together?>

Marco snorted. “Train? I think you know I’m always gonna be hopeless at tail fighting. There’s a reason my battle morph is punch-centric.”

<No, you are hopeless, definitely,> Ax agreed. <I mean that I want to train our empathic bond. I am not able to go with you, but if we were able to maintain thought-speak communication, I would at least know if you were in trouble. Or dead.>

“Oh,” Marco said. “I mean, I might be hopeless at that too.”

<Please make an effort, for my peace of mind.>

Marco looked up at Ax and put an arm around his lower back. “Yeah, okay.” And because he felt like he was committing to totally insane, horrific plans and no one was around to be brave for him, he said, “Let’s do it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks to my beta [LilacSolanum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsolanum/pseuds/lilacsolanum) who is somehow simultaneously one of the coolest people I know and also an easily flustered Midwestern mom, oh jeez.
> 
> Thanks also to my friend and Actual Scientist [palmsmith](http://twitter.com/spacetrucksix) for making my attempt at describing the biochemical effects of illsipar... not embarrasing. i.e. she just rewrote it for me. Thank you. Thank you.


	30. Chapter 30

AXIMILI

A warm breeze rippled through Aximili’s feathers. The longer feathers on his shoulders and tail interpreted the direction of the wind. His morph instinctively made adjustments to the angles of his wings, catching the gentlest breeze and riding it upward. His body, as long as an adult Andalite, felt weightless and graceful despite his size. A  _ kafit _ ’s flight felt more like swimming but with no resistance. There was no need to beat his wings, he just rode the tides and currents of the air up and up. As beautiful as many things on Earth had been, as often as he missed it, flying on homeworld was undeniably superior. 

He called out briefly to Marco. If there was a response, Aximili didn’t receive it. Aximili had been flying for two lunar cycles, going in and out of range, hoping to stretch their empathic bond by small increments. There was possibly no way to know that it was working. It was easier to receive emotional feedback than to transmit words, but Aximili was so desperate for it to work, he doubted any possibility of shared emotion as a hopeful delusion on his part. 

That had become frustrating, so he was trying to just enjoy flying. It was a strong, familiar experience for both of them, and one Aximili hoped would transmit easily. 

<What brings you out to my neck of the woods, Ax-man?> Tobias appeared out of the tangled canopy, rapidly gaining altitude. He brought himself parallel to Aximili, then turned a showy loop around Aximili’s  _ kafit _ morph. 

Aximili twisted his body and changed direction more rapidly than would have been possible for any Earth bird. The  _ kafit’ _ s reaction times were closer to an Earth cobra than an Earth bird of prey. Aximili closed the distance between himself and Tobias in seconds, then spiraled his long body around Tobias, flicking his feather-tipped tail in Tobias’ face before initiating a sharp dive.

<Augh!> Tobias yelled. 

<Beat you to your clearing,> Aximili challenged.

<Oh, no way,> Tobias retorted. 

Aximili saw with the set of eyes positioned closer to the back of the  _ kafit’s  _ head that Tobias dropped into a dive as well. He was fairly certain the  _ kafit _ was the faster bird. Its six wings provided more power and acceleration, its sleek feathers less wind resistance. Even with all his experience, it would be almost impossible for Tobias to outfly the  _ kafit _ .

Aximili pulled ahead easily in his body that had evolved for the airstreams and atmospheric conditions of homeworld. Aximili considered allowing his  _ shorm _ to win their race, for the sake of his pride. He didn’t have time to debate internally whether Tobias would be offended that he had even entertained the idea — he would have been — because Tobias blew past him. 

<Eat my dust, six-winged murderbird!> Tobias yelled. It was endearing that he was still in the habit of trash-talking other birds, even on homeworld. 

Against the laws of physics and nature (as Aximili understood them, and he was an expert in neither), Tobias weaved through the dense branches and vines and easily beat Aximili to his clearing. He immediately pulled back up and dodged his way back out of the canopy, doing an aerial spin and a backflip when he burst back into the open air. 

Tobias laughed just for the sheer joy of flying. His joy filled Aximili as surely as if they had both been Andalites running together. Even after everything he had been through, Tobias still loved flying as much as he always had.

Rather than getting better since he’d returned home, the dark stain The One had left inside him had taken root. It choked him with anxiety for his friends and family. It drained the pleasure from the things he once enjoyed. Nothing seemed to stave it off for long. 

Tobias had always struggled with a similar darkness. It wasn’t impossible to pierce through it and reach Tobias. That made Aximili feel less powerless. Considering that his life was proceeding basically without his own input, almost as if he were still trapped, he held tight to anything that made him feel like he still had agency.

<So, you just out here for fun, or what?> Tobias asked, performing another lazy loop that pitched him higher with much greater ease than Earth’s atmosphere would have allowed. 

<I am having fun since encountering you,> Aximili answered.

<Uh huh. That’s definitely an answer,> Tobias said sarcastically. Considering his two closest friends, it was no wonder Aximili had adopted the habit himself.

Aximili had forgiven Tobias for attacking Marco. He had hoped that spending time with Marco would help Tobias recall the good times they had all shared. So far, Tobias was still surly, despite what Aximili felt was obvious progress on Marco’s part. Even mentioning him to Tobias could be unpleasant. However, it benefitted no one for Aximili to allow Tobias to pretend Marco didn’t exist when he wasn’t there, and treat him with contempt when he was. He would not allow even his  _ shorm _ to force him to choose between them. 

<Marco is working with Estrid on his media project.>

<And you don’t want to be there to watch the train wreck?>

<I do not agree that it will be a train wreck,> Aximili protested. 

<He doesn’t deserve you.> Tobias tried to sound like he was joking, but Aximili knew he meant it sincerely. 

Aximili sighed and directed the conversation back to Tobias’ original question. <I am flying because Marco and I have been working on stretching the limits of our thought-speak range. He is stationary and I am flying in and out of the boundary.>

<Ah,> Tobias said. Aximili could tell he was making an effort to not sound resentful. That counted for something. <How’s that going?>

<It is difficult to tell. If we are making progress, it is not linear. It is difficult to be sure that I am not just imagining results. I am frustrated.>

<Have you asked your dad?>

Had Aximili been an Andalite, he would have stared at Tobias with blank incredulity. <Of course I have not discussed with my  _ father  _ that I share a rare and intimate connection with an alien.>

Tobias scoffed. <Your parents know you live together. Is it that big a deal?>

<It is a ‘big deal.’ Anyway, if I asked my father about empathic bonds, his answers would implicitly be about his relationship with my mother. Andalites don’t speak of such matters, but even humans do not like to hear about intimacy between their own parents.>

<I wouldn’t know,> Tobias said in that casual way that made others uncomfortable. Aximili understood this coping mechanism. He was unbothered. <I was on my way to see your parents anyway. You want me to bring it up casually?>

<I don’t want that  _ at all _ .>

<Well, you wanna come with me anyway?> Tobias veered off in the direction of Aximili’s parents’ scoop. 

Aximili hadn’t received any clear communication from Marco for several cycles. He could still make attempts to contact Marco from his parents’ scoop. Perhaps it would be better if they were both Andalites. There was no way of knowing. 

Aximili followed Tobias. When they had nearly arrived, Tobias dropped down. They morphed Andalite and ran the rest of the way there. Aximili hoped that the surge of positive neurotransmitters induced by running with his  _ shorm  _ would reach Marco. 

Tobias entered as if he lived there, the same way Aximili once had before the war. Of course, his father insisted that Aximili would always have a home there. Noorlin had preserved both Aximili and Elfangor’s sections of their scoop, partitioned off from their main quarters by privacy force fields. When Aximili had returned for the first time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that both rooms were shrines to their lost sons. “Home” had been a complicated idea for Aximili for much of his life.

Noorlin looked up from the data he was analyzing. He crossed the scoop so he could press a hand to Aximili’s face and encircle Tobias with his tail. <My sons!>

<Hey,> Tobias responded shakily. Again, Aximili felt strengthened by Tobias’ perseverance. If anyone in the galaxy had a complicated relationship with family and home, it was Tobias. He was still willing to seek them out, despite everything that had been taken from him.

<I hope we aren’t imposing,> Aximili said, glancing at his mother and wondering if she would acknowledge them. 

<Aximili-kala, you cannot impose on family,> Noorlin said, tapping the flat of his blade gently against Aximili’s forehead. Aximili groaned and flinched away. Noorlin laughed.

His father had always been more demonstrative with affection and more emotionally open in general. In the nomadic clan in which he grew up, those values established stronger cooperation and group dynamics that helped them survive the harsh terrain and climate. Aximili usually preferred this to the distance and restraint that was the norm in mainstream Andalite culture. Having that background had given Aximili an advantage in relating to his human friends and in understanding the motivations of his military rivals. But sometimes he couldn’t help but feel some kinship with Marco, who had always seemed deeply embarrassed by Peter.

<Did the two of you want to go for a run?> Noorlin asked, smiling between Aximili and Tobias.

Forlay glanced down at one of her displays, cleared it out, and pulled the holographic projector off the force field wall. Wordlessly, she handed it and a stylus to Tobias. She went back to her workstation, rearranging the information she was monitoring to adjust for the change.

<Er, yeah,> Tobias said, <I was hoping to continue working on the piece I started the other day.>

<Of course,> Noorlin said. <Aximili, did you want to log some apprenticeship hours with me? You must be behind.>

Aximili internalized a silent groan of resignation. It may only have been his imagination, but Aximili thought he might feel the vaguely sympathetic amusement Marco would have expressed had he been present. If he wasn’t making any progress on his self-appointed mission, he may as well complete some of the busywork required by his actual job.

Each person became quietly immersed in their individual projects. Tobias was drawing. He had regained much of the motor skills he had lost while living as a hawk full time. Occasionally he would show Noorlin or Aximili for encouragement. Even more occasionally, he would show Forlay and she would give him a critique. On this day, he was focused on fine details and didn’t ask for feedback. 

Tobias eventually broke the companionable silence himself. <Noorlin, how did you and Forlay meet?>

Aximili glanced sharply up from his work. <You said you wouldn’t,> he whispered.

<I  _ didn’t  _ say that,> Tobias whispered back. <Anyway, that’s a totally normal question to ask your grandparents, isn’t it?>

<I don’t know,> Aximili answered. <I have never met any of my grandparents. But I wouldn’t ask my  _ parents. _ >

<Come on, dude, I’ve watched more Hallmark Channel movies with you than either of us want to acknowledge. I know you want this touching family moment. And even I know how my parents met.>

<Everyone knows how your parents met; my mother  _ published  _ it,> Aximili hissed. 

Noorlin smiled, ignoring that Aximili and Tobias were obviously silently arguing. <May I tell him, Forlay?>

<It isn’t a secret,  _ Lahala,> _ she responded. <My personal history is largely public record. Tobias would probably prefer to hear it from you than read it in the reference repository.> She still didn’t look away from her work, but the paused data on her screens belied her distraction. It was new for Aximili to consider, but he wondered if she was anxious about what Noorlin was going to say. 

Noorlin’s smile deepened. <I am not as skilled at storytelling as Forlay,> he started. He handed his datapad to Aximili, who now had one in each hand.

She turned and they locked their main eyes momentarily, sharing some sort of meaningful glance. Aximili already wanted to leave. He brought the pads up to his face, but their holographic displays were semitransparent and viewing his family through blue filters did nothing to block the awkwardness.

Bolstered by Forlay’s tacit encouragement, Noorlin started his story. He was right that he wasn’t as skilled at projecting imagery as Forlay was, but Aximili still saw what his father wanted him to see. In his mind, Aximili saw his father as he saw himself decades prior — barely older than Aximili, his thick fur less streaked with tan, his stout body less softened by age, his hooves undulled — Aximili had seen holos of his father at this age, but holos didn’t come with emotional impressions. Noorlin had been eager; his memory buzzed with his passion for education and cultural exchange. He had believed deeply in fairness and equal opportunities. It was easy for Aximili to see himself in his father. For that reason, it was easy for Aximili to think that his father had been naive.

<I was barely out of my apprenticeship, working in traditional publishing. It was a unique viewpoint from which to experience Forlay publishing her first collection of poetry.> Noorlin smiled, and Aximili could feel his satisfaction and delight at the memory. 

Noorlin showed them his workplace full of stodgy Andalites who all looked the same and all looked different from him. He fast forwarded through the reactions of the mainstream publicists and propagandists he’d worked with. Their initial response had been complete disdain that this disgraced scientist had the brazenness to attempt to self-publish outside her field. Their reaction shifted to chaos and outrage when the fascinated public circulated her work of their own volition with no way to compile statistics and no way to control the release of information. 

<Forlay was already notorious, and she used that to her advantage. The judiciary claim she filed against Escafil and the military had been inescapable in the media for nearly a year. The expectation, after she lost her claim and the rights to her work, was that she would quietly go back to genetics research, having been appropriately shamed. Instead she released her first volume and set the civilian net on fire.> Noorlin smiled adoringly at Forlay, who was watching him with a single stalk eye. Forlay seemed nearly as uncomfortable with Noorlin’s open expression of pride and admiration as Aximili was.

<Wait,> Tobias said. <Sorry for interrupting, but Escafil? As in  _ the device _ ? As in, the morphing cube?>

<Before my mother was a poet and journalist, she was a geneticist. Doctor Escafil-Isthill-Assan was her partner,> Aximili recited. He had a flashback to starting school for the first time and learning to condense this summary into the shortest possible statement to repeat every time a classmate would put together “Esgarrouth” and “Isthill.” His very name was a controversy that had to be constantly explained. 

Tobias, wide-eyed, glanced between Noorlin, Aximili, and Forlay, shocked at the revelation that Forlay had co-created the morphing technology. 

Aximili had always appreciated his human friends for not having the context to call him Elfangor’s little brother or Forlay’s second son. Among Andalites, he had always felt like he was performing an impossible balancing act between a reputation he could never live up to and one he must never stoop to. With the humans, he could just be Ax.

Noorlin continued, <I was still quite young, but I was already growing frustrated with the mainstream publishing industry. I had specialized in intercultural exchange and history with a focus on nomadic clans in school. I thought that the issues that were so important to me were only invisible because none of my people had tried to share our stories. When I finished my studies and my apprenticeship, I was told my studies were irrelevant and there was no market for my perspective. I was relegated to editing and promoting the same war narratives I grew up despising. 

<Perhaps it was the same hopeful foolishness that made me think I could reach out to Forlay and offer her my services. Initially we corresponded via civilian net. I had already been captivated by her work, but even her correspondence left me breathless at the end of every message. Every incoming comm notification felt like running over vast fields. She finally requested we meet in person to discuss my becoming her full-time publicist for her third collection.>

Noorlin shared his memory of meeting Forlay. She had been undergoing  _ unschweet _ since Aximili was a small child. It was odd to see her with a full coat of fur in his father’s memories. Somehow, she looked more disgraced unshorn. Her greatest failure was still fresh. The loss that had made her ferocious was still ahead of her. To Aximili, she looked raw and incomplete. 

His father’s impressions of her were unchanged between then and now. She was fierce, beautiful, and brilliant. She wanted to root out and strike down every injustice or die trying. He would follow her through ruin and dishonor just to be there for the fall. Aximili glanced at Tobias, who had been swept up into the narrative. Tobias, who never had a chance to know his family, who had still inherited so much without knowing.

<At the time, neither of us had much. I was the first to settle from my family, so my scoop assignment was minimal. Forlay had lost everything as a result of her unsuccessful challenge and estrangement from Escafil. She had disgraced her family and was relying on public computers and other artists allowing her to sleep in their scoops night by night. It made sense to combine the few resources we had.>

Aximili received a flash of them working and sleeping side-by-side in a scoop that was barely larger than the first-years’ quarters at the Academy, on equipment that looked a century outdated. Still, his father was living his dream. He had established himself in the cultural capital of the world and he was doing work that mattered. As usual, Forlay looked like she was breaking things and forcing the pieces back together incorrectly. 

<Public intrigue with Forlay’s reputation made my job as her publicist easy, but it made my job as her agent difficult. She has always hated engaging with press and the public. Our operation quickly outgrew our living space, but despite her controversies and the wishes of her detractors, Forlay’s literary reputation eventually afforded her a better property assignment. I assumed she would leave me to my assigned scoop, but she chose to allow me to continue living with her, even when we didn’t have to any longer.>

<Noorlin,> Forlay interjected. <Of course I was never going to let you continue living in that depressing hole.>

Forlay’s interruption seemed to snap Tobias out of the story and he jerked like he was surprised she was still there. He was still unused to the traditional storytelling technique, so he had become immersed like a child being told a story before bed. Aximili was learning things he had never known about his parents, but he was too uncomfortable with it to let himself get as involved with the narrative as Tobias.

Noorlin tilted his head affectionately toward Forlay, acknowledging that her early demonstrations of care for him still meant everything to him. <Even so,> he continued, <it took years for Forlay to allow herself to trust or depend on me, even after we became involved personally.>

To illustrate, Noorlin showed their young family, presumably shortly after Elfangor had left the pouch and begun walking. Noorlin, as always, was so obviously happy and enraptured with his new son and the family that he had always wanted. Forlay, as always, looked intense and complicated, like she couldn’t commit everything to her mate and their son, even if she wanted to.

<That is enough,> Forlay said. She never snapped at Noorlin, but even spoken gently, her words felt harsh. Noorlin’s memories winked out like a book clapped shut. <If you have more to tell them, please do it where you will not distract me.>

<Would you like to hear more?> Noorlin asked Tobias. Tobias nodded and timidly returned his display to Forlay. Aximili watched her take the pad, carefully placing her hand on Tobias’ and lingering for a moment before replacing the pad where it belonged in her array.

Tobias followed Noorlin outside. Aximili remained behind, looking over his mother’s shoulder at the dozen news streams she was monitoring, the two screens of poetry off to the side, and the six active discussions between various agents and journalists. She knew he was there, so it felt like she was pointedly not looking at him. He felt like he needed to say something to her, but didn’t know what to say.

<Mother,> he said finally.

<Yes, Aximili-kala?> she said, her voice softer than he was used to.

<Do you know anything about empathic connections between  _ shorms _ or mates?>

<What do you think?> she asked rhetorically. 

It was an interesting question, because if someone had asked Aximili one year earlier, he would have told them he didn’t think she was capable of the depth of caring required for that kind of relationship. Now he understood she was very much the opposite, so acutely he was almost worried she could somehow read his thoughts and know how he had seen her.

<I know that I am named for Escafil-Isthill-Assan,> Aximili said carefully. <Everything that happened between the two of you happened decades before my birth. How could she still be your _shorm_ and thus my namesake if she destroyed your life?>

<She did not destroy my life. She gave me no choice but to create a new one. Even I am capable of moving on,> Forlay said. She was perfectly still, regarding Aximili with her stalk eyes. The only indication about how she might feel about everything that had been discussed was her tight grip on the side of her desk.

<Did you eventually forgive her?> Aximili asked. 

<You never have to forgive,> Forlay said darkly. 

Aximili sighed. Perhaps he should have just continued this conversation with his father. He was learning to understand his mother, but she was still difficult to talk to, especially about something so personal. He considered leaving. Her main eyes snapped down to his shifting hooves and she caught him by the wrist before he had even started to walk away. Their main eyes met and she stared into him. 

Aximili had inherited his mother’s eyes. When she looked at him this way, it was like an unsettling mirror that reflected only one part of you. Growing up, Aximili thought his mother could only see darkness. He had worried that sharing her eyes meant that he was cursed with whatever made her the way she was. He had tried so hard to convince himself he was her opposite in every way. The horrifying feeling that she could read his thoughts came back.

She tilted her head and released his wrist. Gently, she reached out and smoothed some fur on his shoulder that had spiked up with anxiety.

<Empathic bonds are not an exact science,> Forlay said, finally answering his question. <What are you asking me? I will tell you.>

<I thought the most important factor in developing a bond with someone was trust,> Aximili said hesitantly. <But you don’t trust Escafil. Did her betrayal damage your bond?>

<My bond with Escafil is tied to strong emotional responses, both positive and negative. I felt closest, emotionally, to her when I felt the most deeply betrayed. Imagine hating someone and never being able to be rid of them, even after you’ve left. I was only able to escape her in my mind when I got some distance and perspective. It took many years.> Aximili could tell that she was taking great care to distance herself from the things she was saying. She didn’t want to share her impressions or memories the way Noorlin had. Aximili was grateful.

He took a deep breath. <Did she choose to betray you or was it forced upon her?>

Forlay shook her head. Even with time and distance, she had to fight to keep her anger repressed. <I would have rather destroyed our work than hand it over to the military. She knew that. But she was more concerned with the medical applications that would have been lost, so she compromised her integrity in exchange for being allowed to continue her research.> Forlay added, with no small amount of self-righteousness, <And now the technology we invented has been used to end more lives than save them. She has at least admitted that since.>

<Did she attend my naming ceremony?> Aximili asked.

<Yes,> Forlay said.

Aximili felt like he was interrogating his mother and neither party even wanted it. But if anyone could help him understand, it was her and he had to keep asking questions. <Have you seen her since then?>

<Not in person. But that doesn’t matter.>

<Because you are still bonded,> Aximili surmised.

<For many reasons,> she confirmed. 

<What about your bond with my father?>

<My connection to Escafil is driven by emotional extremes,> Forlay said. She looked down at one of her screens -- one of the poems she was working on. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she looked back to Aximili and continued, <My bond with your father is strongest when I am able to be calm. I have never comfortably surrendered control to anyone but Noorlin. He has given me what little peace I have.>

<I see,> Aximili said.

His mother had difficulty directly communicating, but she had a precise understanding of her feelings and relationships that Aximili could hardly conceive of. She was able to define her dynamics with both her partners so clearly. He felt like he was cracking her open and examining her insides. This was one reason he couldn’t read her poetry. Everything she did was driven by compulsive grasps at control, obsessive need to protect the things she cared about, and the horror of knowing what it felt like to fail. Aximili had never been in a place that he could have understood that before. He wished he still couldn’t. 

<Is one connection stronger than the other?> he asked.

<They are  _ different _ ,> Forlay repeated. <Why are you asking all these questions about empathic bonds, Aximili?>

Aximili looked away, not even wanting to see the reaction in her stalk eyes. <Has Menderash told you what he and Marco are doing?>

<Vaguely,> Forlay said. 

She glanced up to one of the conversations she was monitoring. It was her inner circle of most-trusted agents. Aximili knew because he recognized Mertil’s thought-signature among them. The others were too well-disguised for Aximili to identify if Menderash was still among them.

<Marco is about to undertake an incredibly dangerous assignment. I cannot stop him, and I am afraid.>

<You are very like your father, Aximili. Perhaps trust  _ is _ the most important thing for you. It means a lot to him.>

<Thank you,> Aximili said. <I am learning to appreciate the parts of myself that are like you as well.>

Forlay turned to him. She held a hand up to allow him to step towards her if he wanted to. Aximili complied. She tenderly ran her thumb across his cheekbone. Such displays of affection from his mother were rare enough that Aximili wasn’t sure how to react. 

<Empathic bonds are not well-understood, medically or scientifically,> she said. Her thought-speech completely free of judgement, she continued, <This is even more true for you and your alien. There is no key that I can give you to unlock the secrets. I wish I could help you more.>

<No,> Aximili said. <You have helped.>

She smoothed the fur along his spine again. With her hand on his back, she guided him closer until he was standing next to her, looking up at her two dozen displays. She had never hidden her work from him, but he had aspired to follow Elfangor into the military since before he could remember making the decision. He had always distanced himself from his mother’s treason. He had always accepted without question that she was wrong and misguided, that the military was only doing what was best for the people.

He knew enough now to know that he had always been wrong. He didn’t absorb much of the data before him, but he hoped his willingness to look showed her that he was growing. Neither of them knew how to completely bridge the rift between them, but perhaps someday it would be small enough to cross. 

Aximili left, looking for his father and Tobias. He was hoping to speak with Tobias, hoping that Noorlin’s story had made it clear to Tobias as well that he and Marco could both have deep and meaningful relationships with Aximili. He hoped Tobias was Andalite enough to understand that they didn’t have to be jealous, that Aximili could care for them both equally and differently. He needed them both. He was relieved when he eventually spotted Tobias soaring overhead. 

<Tobias,> Aximili called out to him. <May we talk?>

<Sure,> Tobias said. <You’re not mad at me, are you?>

<I am not. Will you perch somewhere?>

Tobias tipped his wing down and circled down to a tree at the edge of the woods. He landed on a branch that was only a little taller than Aximili. 

<What’s up?>

<I know I cannot force you to like Marco.> Tobias’ shoulder feathers ruffled up, but he didn’t say anything. <Despite evidence to the contrary, I don’t believe that you actually want him dead.>

Tobias tilted his head to the side. <What are you getting at?>

<Marco is planning to attempt to extract information from Gonrod. I am worried it will be a suicide mission if he goes alone.>

Aximili did not have to share a bond with Tobias for Tobias to understand he was making an implicit request. <You want  _ me _ to go with him?>

<Your identity is not a secret and you are a skilled fighter. Please, Tobias.>

<Ax-man, we spar for fun. Gonrod’s a trained warrior.>

<If you feel that way, how do you think I feel about  _ Marco _ potentially fighting him?>

Tobias looked directly into Aximili’s eyes, his hard expression constant and unreadable. <Can’t you talk him out of it?>

<I have tried.>

<Since when does  _ he  _ want to be a hero?> Tobias grumbled. He shifted his talons along the branch. Aximili could tell he was preparing to take off. <Ax, I’ve risked my life for you and I’d do it again, drop of a hat. But I’m done trying to get myself killed for a cause or because someone told me to.>

<Tobias,> Aximili said seriously. <Will you do this for  _ me _ , as my  _ shorm?  _ Please. _ > _

<Talk him out of it.>

Tobias flapped off loudly, leaving Aximili standing alone, his tail nearly dragging the ground. 

* * *

They came to an unspoken consensus to stop in a clearing and rest their legs. It hadn’t been long since Marco had reset his morph, but they had been running together for the better part of the day. Marco was getting tired from morphing, but he had been persevering mostly without complaint for Aximili’s sake. Aximili was proud of him, because this was their fifth day in a row working this hard. He hadn’t expected Marco to take him so seriously.

It was night, though it was still early enough that the two largest moons shone waterfalls of prismatic light through the openings in the canopy. The trees in this part of the woods were woven together by symbiotic vines that lit the perimeter of the clearing with tiny mirror-like flowers. The flowers reflected the moons above and also the carpet of glowing, bioluminescent mushrooms that glowed a gentle rainbow of colors in the soft haze.

He allowed his stalk eyes to settle along with his main eyes on Marco. Marco’s own dark, semi-translucent fur also reflected the different sources of light in this clearing. He looked ethereal and otherworldly, and their bond felt like a beam of light drawn tight and clear between them. 

Overcome by the setting and Marco’s beauty and the exhilaration of success, Aximili grabbed both of Marco’s hands. Marco practically lit up in response, like Aximili had completed a circuit between them. 

<I’m feeling really good about our progress.>

<Great! Let’s go home now.>

Marco turned toward the direction of their scoop, but Aximili planted his hooves and held onto one of Marco’s hands. Marco turned back, eyes questioning.

<We should keep practicing.>

<We’ve been doing this constantly for like a week. We’ve earned a break.>

Aximili snaked his tail around Marco’s back and pulled him closer, so they were standing nearly chest to chest. Aximili took both of Marco’s hands in his and brought them up to his own face. Aximili mirrored what he was having Marco do, holding Marco’s face in his hands. He could feel that Marco was barely breathing, his huge, sea-colored eyes reflecting Aximili’s emerald eyes back to him. 

Aximili pressed their foreheads together and saw a flash almost like a lightning strike. The world slowed down around them. Aximili’s own main eyes were closed, but he could see himself through Marco’s, and their shared stalk eye range overlapped in a way that was disorienting like the times they had gotten far too drunk together. Marco’s feelings came into sharp relief and intermingled with Aximili’s. 

_ What. What is this? What’s he doing? Whatever it is, it feels really good, I hope he keeps doing it. Hah, yeah it is kinda like that time I stole that bottle of Tapatio. Whoa. Ax?  _

_ < _ Ax,> Marco repeated. Aximili could feel the effort it took for him to focus his words into a point and form the thought-speech. <Am I hearing your thoughts? Are you in my head?>

Aximili tilted his head, driving his face in closer to Marco’s. Marco couldn’t hold his breath anymore and he blew out a sigh then gasped in another breath. With their faces so close together, Aximili felt their quickening breaths mingle. Marco pictured, or maybe Aximili pictured — it didn’t matter who pictured it — their consciousness swirling like their breaths, each one partly inside the other and sharing some space in between.

_ Ax, are you doing a literal actual Vulcan mind meld right now or am I hallucinating, because this is really weird, I don’t really want to stop but can we stop now please just for a second — _

Aximili pulled his face away and settled his hands down alongside Marco’s neck. Marco pulled in a long breath and exhaled deeply. He took a few more long, measured breaths, his eyes still out of focus.

<You have to tell me what you’re doing before you do something like that, Ax.>

<To be fair,> Aximili said. <I did not know what we would experience when I initiated.>

<What  _ was _ that?>

<Foreplay,> Aximili said casually. <Still want to take a break?>

<Oh.  _ Oh. _ Please,> Marco begged, shifting his hooves and closing the small gap between them so their chests rubbed together.

Aximili laughed, bringing his hands back up and pulling Marco’s face back up to his. He rubbed his cheekbone against Marco’s.

_ Are you really, is this really, are we really going to — Ax you’re so nervous, how can you possibly be this nervous, there’s no way — wait have you not done this before? _

Aximili opened his eyes, straining to pull his thoughts apart from Marco’s, let alone form words. <You know I haven’t done this before.>

_ Ax, oh my god, I begged you to see other people, I can’t believe you didn’t, I can’t believe you just let me think — you’ve never had sex in your own body? You know more about sex with humans than you do your own species? Your life is so ridiculous. Sorry, I know — I’m not trying to freak you out. Is it always like this? Wait, you don’t even know. Great, awesome, we’re on yet another new adventure together. Are you finally going to show me where my dick is? _

Aximili took another deep breath. He took one hand away from Marco’s face. That attenuated the mind link enough that Marco’s stream of consciousness became more feeling than monologue. They were both panting. They were both excited and afraid and the whirlpool of their shared thoughts and feelings magnified that.

Aximili traced the back of his fingers down Marco’s chest and torso. Marco watched Aximili’s hand stop a little lower than where Marco’s navel would have been if he were human. 

<There?> Marco said, incredulously. <On the front of me? I’ve been looking for a horse dick this whole time.>

<I have told you so many times that we actually have very little in common with horses,> Aximili said.

Aximili parted Marco’s crystalline fur and stretched three fingers flat against the tight crevice of muscle where his humanoid body met his lower body. Marco’s breath hitched and he pressed his cheek into Aximili’s neck. Aximili had felt this sensation, although only by himself. Marco never had. Now Aximili was experiencing it for the first time through Marco. 

Aximili worked a finger into Marco. He was prepared from his knowledge of his own body that it would not be as wet and warm as fingering Marco’s human body. Aximili pressed another finger inside Marco and Marco’s knees almost buckled. 

<I’m so pissed at you for never showing me this until now.>

<I know that you are not angry,> Aximili said matter-of-factly, pulling his fingers out and massaging along the length of muscle, hoping Marco responded to similar stimuli that he enjoyed himself. 

<It’s hot how you keep picturing touching yourself,> Marco said, rubbing his face into Aximili’s neck, ruffling his fur with hot, rapid breaths.

<You know,> Aximili said, stroking slowly, <I was able to discover the human equivalent of this activity without assistance.>

<Your human junk isn’t  _ hidden _ ,> Marco snapped. 

He moaned inside Aximili’s head and Aximili could feel the ring of muscle finally relaxing and expanding outward. Aximili pressed his forehead against Marco’s again and compelled him to open his eyes and watch. Aximili watched Marco’s expression with his main eyes and his genitals with his stalk eyes. 

Like a sudden strike, Marco’s  _ velisshorm _ everted, the slick, hook-like appendage capturing Aximili’s wrist. The strong coil of muscle grasped him tightly. 

<What the fuck,> Marco whispered. His gaze was transfixed, his expression a perfect reflection of what he felt, which was some mix of fascination and horror.

Aximili attempted to pull his arm free, but Marco’s  _ velisshorm _ flexed and held him firmly in place. The ridge of grasping muscles moved in a wave from base to tip. Aximili waited until the contraction progressed all the way up the fleshy, deeply textured base to the more rigid, slightly pointed tip. In the relaxation point between the pulsing waves of tension, Aximili was able to pull his arm free. The curve of Marco’s  _ velisshorm  _ stretched, seeking something else to grasp and flex against. 

<What the  _ fuck _ ,> Marco repeated. <Am I not the director of the tentacle porn I’m apparently starring in? It just goes on its own? How is this supposed to work?>

Aximili was still holding Marco close with his tail. He let him go, reached around, and locked their blades together, edge to edge. Marco’s stalk eyes looked between their linked blades and down at his own  _ velisshorm _ , clearly drawing comparisons between their shapes.

<No wonder your tail blades are symbolic dicks,> Marco said.

Using their locked blades as leverage, Aximili pulled Marco’s tail taut and entwined their tails together. Marco sucked in another gasp of air, the pull cool against Aximili’s neck fur. Aximili shared his rush of being restrained tail to tail. In any other situation, that feeling would be horror, but many aspects of the sexual experience relied on allowing yourself to be vulnerable and trusting that you would be protected. 

That was why Aximili decided to finally do this.

He brought both his hands back up to Marco’s face, holding his head still. He was back, in the space between them. Marco’s incoherent babbling had stalled, replaced by dizzy arousal and the thrum of wanting more. Whatever doubts and hesitation Aximili had were swallowed up by shared need and pulses of pleasure. 

Aximili aligned their bodies so the softer, fleshy side of Marco’s  _ velisshorm _ aligned with his own, still internalized. Marco rocked back, moving so the longer side of his shaft rubbed intoxicatingly up and down Aximili’s closed muscle. When the bony tip of Marco’s organ probed at Aximili’s slit, threatening to penetrate, Aximili’s own  _ velisshorm _ finally everted.

Immediately, their organs hooked together, muscular ridge to muscular ridge, symbolically blade to blade. 

The world went dark momentarily and all that Aximili could still make out was the colorful glow of the mushrooms at their feet, twinkling like stars. He had long since lost the sense of where Marco was, separate from himself. They were both experiencing the same euphoria, the same pulse of four hearts racing, the same pattern of muscle contracting against muscle. They were locked together, both their  _ velisshorm _ creating a seal that would eventually lead to the exchange of genetic material. Aximili didn’t even know if it was possible to separate at this point, until they both reached completion.

For a while, both of them were still, overwhelmed with the waves that wracked their entire bodies with each contraction of their two organs against each other. It became easier to separate Marco’s rushing thoughts from his own languid ones. He was more able to discern Marco’s perverse glee and the repetitive chant of  _ fucking finally _ from his own relief that unless something went wrong, Aximili did know what he was doing, and he was doing it with an alien, and it felt right, somehow.

Marco was the first to move, linking his arms around Aximili’s neck and pulling himself up so that he could shift their grappled organs, adding external motion to their internal flexing. A secondary rush crested through both of them. So he could keep up the rhythm of thrusting into their linked  _ velisshorm,  _ Marco hooked both of his front legs around Aximili’s back, giving him more height and leverage.

Aximili knew, so Marco knew that this was a display of dominance. Aximili knew, so Marco knew that there was a potential receptive partner in this so far egalitarian arrangement. That was when they began to struggle for dominance.

Marco already had a postural advantage and had overcome his height deficiency. His front hooves being wrapped around Aximili’s back meant, however, that he only had his back hooves. He was relying on Aximili for balance and could be easily moved. Aximili still had Marco’s tail bound by his own, more muscular tail. That meant that neither of them could use their blades for a real sexual dominance battle. Aximili felt Marco’s edge of anxiety that that was even an option. He would hold that lesson off until next time. 

Aximili wrenched Marco’s tail toward him. This had its own accompanying sensation of pleasure mixed with panic, in tandem with the deep thrust Marco couldn’t prevent when his body shifted. Aximili rode out the resulting waves radiating through him. He pressed his chest against Marco’s, still pulling his tail so he couldn’t help but scrabble his back hooves into the ground as Aximili forced him backwards.

Aximili reared up onto his back legs, planting his front hooves into the tree trunk he’d driven Marco back into. The entire length of Marco’s upper and lower back pressed flat against the tree. Their upper and lower torsos met belly to belly, still connected in the middle.

A deep, unrelenting wave crashed into him, accompanied by what felt like being pulled apart from the inside. Aximili’s vision went dark again and he gasped, feeling like he might faint. His legs felt like glass shattering and he barely stayed upright through the crash of weakness.

They shared mind-numbing delirium while Aximili leaned into Marco to keep his balance. Marco was the first to regain his faculties and he started laughing.

<I’m inside you,> he said victoriously, almost taunting.

As if to demonstrate, he tightened his grip with his front legs and ground up against Aximili. Their interlocked  _ velisshorm _ thrust deeper into Aximili. He exhaled as if he took a sharp blow from the blunt edge of a blade. His elbows gave out and he had to bury his face in Marco’s shoulder.

<This is so like you,> Aximili muttered, his soft, muddled thoughts feeling like sand slipping through his fingers.

<Does it even matter who ends up being on the bottom? We can both feel everything anyway, right?>

Marco held one of Aximili’s boneless hands to his own cheek and pressed his other hand into Aximili’s face. Their minds opened into each other again. Marco’s sharp edges and rushing thoughts had dulled. He was still rubbing slowly against and into Aximili and the feeling on Marco’s end was intense in a completely different way. Instead of feeling pulled apart it was like being submerged in warm water.

Aximili couldn’t actually put into words what it meant to be the receptive partner, but even thinking about it meant that Marco’s question was answered. The shared knowledge overcame Marco like a deep internal sigh washing over him. Marco was sure he was ascending to heights of arousal he’d never reached before. Aximili was sure Marco thought that every time they did anything remotely weird, which was often.

Marco increased his pace, thrusting into Aximili until Aximili was at the very edge of his ability to tolerate it. The feedback was so much, too much. Their joined  _ velisshorm _ were still contracting in syncopated waves, the third rhythm conducted by Marco’s thrusting that only made their organs constrict and hook together more tightly, the aching fullness of both of them inside Aximili, the twist of their entwined tails acting as a counterweight but providing their own source of erotic stimuli. Everything, all of this, both sides. Aximili was almost numb. Marco wasn’t.

Marco used Aximili’s own maneuver and yanked his tail to throw him off balance. At the same time, Marco pushed off from the tree. They crashed to the ground, Marco on top of Aximili, all their legs tangled together. Now Marco’s thrusts were deeper, harder, aching, and Aximili could only see because Marco could see because his own field of vision had filled with scintillating flashes of light and dark. The fact that all Aximili could see was himself, getting fucked into the ground, was the end for Marco.

Marco’s whole body tensed and he wound his fists into the longer fur along the back of Aximili’s neck. Aximili could feel the constrict and release of Marco’s  _ velisshorm _ pumping into his own, pulses of genetic fluid flowing through the seal formed at the bases of each fleshy hook. The more Marco released into him, the further from reality Aximili went. 

Overwhelming warmth, the feeling of spinning, the perfect stillness of complete paralysis, the interplay of light and dark and color and shade. Delerium, euphoria, everything, nothingness. Matter was nothing, energy was nothing, time was nothing. Aximili had dissolved into atoms and his atoms had dissolved into subatomic particles and he was gone. He had never been anything more than stardust and an idea in the first place.

“Ax.” 

Sound! So loud. Painful. Out of place. 

“Ax, are you gonna be okay?”

Worry.

Aximili wrenched his eyes open. His vision was still swimming with light and colors, the spectrum of everything shifted. Marco was rendered in a rainbow surrounded by glowing bioluminescent stars. A hand touched Marco’s beautiful face and it took a while for Aximili to realize it was his own hand.

Marco was human, still lying belly-to-belly with Aximili. Aximili looked up to try to gauge how long it had been, but the sky was purple and green and ultraviolet and the moons weren’t where they were supposed to be.

“I guess I’m lucky we have this psychic link, because otherwise I’d really be missing out on this peyote trip you’re taking.” Marco’s eyes scanned Aximili up and down. “You know, it’s really too bad I had to morph off the afterglow if you’re gonna be like this for a while.”

Marco rolled over onto his back, his body still touching Aximili, shoulder to thigh. He focused his eyes, dark and sharp, on Aximili. He licked his fingers and put his right hand down his shorts. Aximili watched the motion of his arm, the rhythm hypnotic while in his altered mental state. Aximili put his hand on Marco’s wrist and felt his strokes quicken. Marco choked out a moan, shuddered, and pulled his knees up. He rolled over so their fronts were touching again.

Aximili shut his eyes again and pulled Marco into him, holding him with his arms and his front legs. He tried to match Marco’s breathing. It started off quick and eventually slowed. Deep, regular breaths, like the breaths of the trees and the forest and the mountains. Both of them became part of each other and part of everything.

“ _ Ax. _ ”

This time he opened his eyes and his vision was clear. He looked down at Marco and his skin and hair and eyes were brown, like usual. His stalk eyes looked up and the sky was deep red, the moons indicated it had been almost twenty lunar cycles since they had arrived in this clearing.

<Yes, Marco?>

“Your leg is crushing my hip and your fur is covered with dew and I’m cold and wet. Not that I’m not having fun.”

<I am sorry.>

Aximili lifted his leg so Marco could roll out from under it. They both stood and brushed themselves off. Aximili took Marco’s hand and began leading him back home.

“Do your orgasms always lay you out like you dropped acid for the rest of the day?”

<The fluid containing the genetic material required for reproduction also contains a powerful hormonal analgesic and psychotropic. It induces overwhelming euphoria in the receptive partner.>

They still had a while to walk, so Aximili continued. <Incidentally, the only sexual education I have received was at the Academy, where it was strictly forbidden to perform sexual acts to completion because of this.> Aximili added, <It would have been more convenient if you had allowed me to penetrate you.>

Marco scoffed. “You know me, Mr. Inconvenient. So you’re telling me that all those huge, aggressive, frustrated Andalite warriors are celibate because when they come, the guy on the bottom is out of commission for hours?”

<That is the rule. I’m sure you can imagine how strictly it is followed. Most military  _ unschweet  _ ritual reprimands are performed for improper fraternization. Very embarrassing.>

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Marco touched his chest dramatically and affected the haughty tone of a warrior. “I am so deeply disgraced, look at my huge bald spot that shows everyone exactly how much ass I am getting.”

<You catch on so quickly.>

“I’m amazing,” Marco said, just as they arrived home. 

Marco stretched and leaned to crack his spine. He retrieved the remains of a half-eaten sandwich, a cinnamon bun, and a cold cup of coffee from their modest supply of food. He settled on the couch with his breakfast.

Between bites, he said, “You know what else I caught onto?”

<What?> Aximili asked, taking a sip from his fountain. The cold water traveling up his leg centered him, bringing him back into his body, making him solid again.

“I get that you decided to do that because you’re scared.” He left the implication of what Aximili was scared of unspoken, but their connection was growing stronger and Aximili could see that Marco was picturing all of the possibilities that Aximili had been trying not to.

Aximili stared at Marco.

<In part, yes. I am afraid for you. I won’t deny that as a factor in my decision to cross that line.>

“The ‘sharing dick secrets’ subsection of Seerow’s Kindness  _ is  _ the most important part of that law. That’s why it’s bolded.” He swallowed the food he’d been talking around, then put his hands up as if imitating a billboard. “ _ NO IMPARTING OF DICK TO UNCIVILIZED ALIENS. _ Classic Prime Directive. That’s why it took so long for Riker to become captain.”

Aximili stepped up and settled next to Marco on the couch. <That is not the only reason. If our bond is strengthened by trust and openness, it was counterproductive for me to hold back an experience that had the potential to be greatly beneficial toward our goal.>

“Oh, so that was  _ practical _ sex,” Marco teased. He ripped off a piece of cinnamon bun and held it up to Aximili’s nose. Aximili caught Marco’s hand before it reached his face, pulled the piece of pastry out of Marco’s fingers, and put it in his mouth. Marco finished chewing and said, “How could I ever have thought that you only had one ulterior motive?”

<’I learned it from you,’> Aximili quoted. 

Marco grinned, then yawned. “Did I get a full night’s sleep?”

<My time sense was thrown off, but I estimate our coitus took approximately one-point-three Earth hours —>

“Ew, Ax,  _ coitus _ ?” Marco stuck his tongue out and mimed gagging.

<And then I was ‘out of it’ for approximately six hours,> Aximili finished.

“Mmm,” Marco groaned, stretching again. “I’m gonna shower and go back to bed. Something about the cold, hard ground and your knee in my side just didn’t leave me feeling totally recharged. Wanna join?”

Aximili peered up at the sky through the clear roof of the scoop. <I have to go to work soon.> Marco wrinkled his lip. <What are your plans, after you reach your full charge?>

“Estrid and I are working on the script and scheduling auditions.”

Aximili groaned. While he couldn’t contribute to Marco’s project, he wished he could at least witness the creative process.

Marco brushed the crumbs off his lap, stood, and kissed Aximili between his main eyes. “Come shower with me before work. If you don’t, they’ll know you’ve been rolling around in the dirt and might give you the ‘just got back from the bone zone’ haircut.”

Aximili let Marco lead him to the shower, although he had to leave before Marco was finished. He rushed through a morning ritual on the way to work, but he didn’t hurry afterward. It didn’t really matter when he arrived. His rank at least afforded him that privilege. 

Like Marco, Aximili didn’t feel completely well-rested after their exertions. Luckily, his work didn’t require much mental effort. He redacted documents mechanically until it was nearly time for him to leave. He was so disengaged, he almost missed something important.

He was looking at a memo and the phrases “security breach” and “classified data leak” lept out at him. His insides went cold, then his hearts began to race as he reviewed the memo again. The sender and recipient were encrypted, as was the subject of the leaks, but the phrases “massive data center compromised,” “internal personnel signatures,” and “Apex-level classification” were enough. Menderash had left traces and high command knew. 

_ <Ax?> _

Aximili tensed, startled, until he realized that Marco must have felt his panic. He and Estrid usually worked at their scoop, but sometimes they came into town. Either way, Marco would have normally been out of range. Aximili felt like he was being yanked in several directions. He was terrified for Marco and Menderash, but he was excited and proud that their work on the empathic bond was paying off.

_ <You okay?> _ Marco asked.

<I am safe,> Aximili answered in private thought-speak. <I am looking at a document that indicates knowledge of the leaking of thousands of classified documents by an unidentified intelligence agent.>

Marco let loose a long string of profanity. < _ Okay. Ax. Do not react any more than you already have. Do whatever you’re supposed to do with that document, then move on and do a few more. There’s no way this got to you by accident. They’re trying to see if you know anything. You don’t. This means nothing to you.> _

<I wish you had listened,> Aximili said, scanning the document a third time, processing it appropriately, and moving on to the next.

_ <Save it for when we get home,> _ Marco said. < _ And try to calm down. They’re just testing you. They don’t know anything.> _

<Marco, you don’t know that,> Aximili protested.

< _ I said save it. I’ll talk to Menderash as soon as I can. We can’t do anything else.> _

Aximili ground his hooves into the grass and dipped into his military training, reciting rituals in his head until his thoughts cleared. This had become much more difficult since his time trapped inside The One. He was also simply out of practice.

He worked through a dozen more documents before it was time for him to leave. As soon as he left the city, he ran so hard that his lungs were aching by the time he got home.

Marco was already there, gazing intently at his datapad. He looked up at Aximili and rolled his eyes.

“I hope you didn’t look this crazy at work, because you definitely blew your cover if you did.” 

Aximili whipped his tail around and lodged his blade into the ground, centimeters from Marco’s feet. Marco didn’t even flinch.

<I wish,> Aximili said slowly, <that you would do  _ only one _ thing that was likely to result in your discovery and death, instead of as many things as you can think of.>

“A guy gets bored,” Marco said.

<Please,> Aximili begged, <don’t do this anymore. This has nothing to do with you. Let my mother die trying to fight for what she thinks is right. You don’t have to. You already saved your own planet.>

Marco sighed. “Ax, who’s Lirem-Arrepath-Terrouss?”

Aximili narrowed his main eyes at Marco. <He is a very old and decorated war-prince. He is the head of the council and serves as liaison between the military leadership and the civilian government. The first time I contacted homeworld from Earth, he was the one who ordered me to lie about Elfangor breaking the law of Seerow’s Kindness.>

“Why do you think someone that important answered a random call from some nobody  _ aristh _ stranded on a backwater planet?”

Aximili was silent.

Marco held his pad out to Aximili. Aximili started to protest that he didn’t want to get involved any further than he already was, but Marco’s eyes were hard and his lips were drawn into a thin line. Aximili looked down at the record Marco was showing him.

At first he didn’t recognize the significance. A request for a check in on an insignificant planet — Earth — then an unexpected but routine rerouting of the fleet to a more important conflict, and an authorization for the  _ GalaxyTree  _ to continue the mission on its own. Everything signed off by Lirem-Arrepath-Terrouss. Aximili could recognize that the next part of the record had been decrypted. It was a communique between Arbat-Elivat-Estoni and Visser Three. It was a bargain.

Aximili couldn’t breathe. His whole body was cold and numb. He reread the message, not wanting to accept it. Finally, he looked back up at Marco, who was also holding his breath. He chewed his lip, waiting for Aximili’s reaction. 

<It was an ambush. The military gave Elfangor to Visser Three. Intentionally. Our entire Dome ship was sacrificed in a negotiation with Yeerks.>

“Yeah,” Marco said. He took the pad back out of Aximili’s frozen hands. “So, y’know. It does have something to do with me.”

<I take it back,> Aximili said. <Keep going.>


	31. Chapter 31

MARCO

Marco screamed. As much as it hurt to have one of his four wings twisted out of its socket and then yanked up and down with the _kafit’_ s snaky flight pattern _,_ he couldn’t help but think his _merulan_ morph sounded just like _The Nutty Professor_. The Jerry Lewis version, not the Eddie Murphy version. The Eddie Murphy version had too much dignity.

He twisted loose, plummeting like an annoying, ugly rock. With another pathetic squawk and a piercing series of snaps, he slammed into the ground. He swiveled his weird hammerhead eyestalk to survey the damage. Yep, mangled again. This was the second rogue _kafit_ attack since he’d set out. At this rate, maybe he’d eventually stop associating the sickening crack of his own bones with Tobias snapping his neck.

Despite his spindly leg pointing three different ways, he hadn’t dropped the all-important keychain. The mission was still on.

Marco dragged himself with his one good leg and two good wings into some scrubby underbrush to demorph. He lay flat on the ground, panting, while his body stitched itself back together. His wounds were healed as usual, but the bone-deep fatigue from continuous morphing had already set in. Marco drove his fists into his temples and swore at himself. His plan was already compromised.

But he was almost there now and he had no choice. He pulled in a deep breath, held it, counted to ten, and began morphing again while he released it.

<Reset the clock again, Ax,> he said when his face had flattened out into the ugly wide-set features of the loser bird Marco had the prescience to name himself after.

< _Are you okay? > _

<I’m just so irresistible. It’s almost flattering how many Big Birds from Hell want a piece of this. But don’t worry, I told them I’m spoken for.>

 _ <Marco, I told you your _ merulan _morph isn’t suited for distance flying, > _ Ax nagged. It was the kind of “I told you so” that Marco knew was borne of helpless frustration.

<Yeah, yeah.>

Marco picked up his keychain and fluttered up to a curve in one of the nearby tree trunks. It would have been a lot faster and a lot less work to carry his tools to his destination if he’d flown as an osprey or a duck. But he was already pushing it between morphs; he had to keep that stealthy hometown advantage as much as he could.

He fluttered up to a higher perch. The trees in this area were taller and more sparse than the ones in the Greater Naraya Metropolitan Area. He’d been flying for hours, for at least three morph cycles, not counting the two times he’d been mauled by mutant Spearows. The terrain had changed from foggy, thickly wooded mountains to rolling plains. The landscape was dotted with scattered outcroppings of trees with long, curving trunks. Some of them grew in curls so tight they looped in on themselves and tangled up with other trees. Each one was topped with a dense, fluffy poof of colorful leaves. It was all very Doctor Seuss or Jim Henson. Definitely a less sexy backdrop than Ax’s hometown.

Marco scanned the horizon for landmarks, noticing that the _kafit_ that had tried to eat him was preening its long, horrible body in a tree not far off. It was getting dark, but Marco thought he spotted the outpost he was looking for off in the distance. It had been hours since he’d seen any sign of civilization. The Andalite MapQuest directions he’d had to memorize were mostly based on notable trees and distance parallel to a river Marco couldn’t even get enough altitude to see reliably.

Menderash had explained that as a former criminal, Gonrod’s property assignment was intentionally remote, intentionally inconvenient, intentionally cut off. Marco had no opinions about the Andalite justice system other than he’d assumed more cover would be available when he was strategizing. He hadn’t anticipated this showdown going down in the Andalite equivalent of Kansas. Another strike against his brilliant plan.

He turned left at the outpost, which basically looked like a cell tower, if a cell tower was a glass sculpture that softly pulsed a different color every Andalite minute. It’d make a good place for a slow, single-person, middle of nowhere rave with no music or drugs. So really, it wasn’t a good place for that at all.

Marco fluttered from tree to tree, keeping one eye stalk swiveled behind him just in case the _kafit_ was still tailing him. Menderash had traced Gonrod’s scoop by coordinates. Maybe an Andalite could navigate that way, but Marco almost missed it. The only reason Marco spotted Gonrod’s scoop was because he knew what to look for. It reminded him more of Ax’s highly-camouflaged Earth scoop than any of the tricked out homeworld scoops Marco had seen.

Marco tried to play it cool; he was just a bird, just passing through. At the same time, he couldn’t lean into the _merulan’_ s instincts to add to the realism of his performance. Its instinct was to squawk, loudly and incessantly. Which was relatable, but pretty much defeated the purpose of attempting a stealth approach, and had almost gotten him eaten by Evil Woody Woodpecker.

Marco landed on a tree as close to the scoop as he felt comfortable getting. He fluttered up to a high perch, the items he was carrying clacking against the branches on his way up. He got as deep into the truffula part of the tree as he could, but the puffy foliage got dense in the middle, more like a hairball than leaves. He had a clear view, and he was as hidden as he was going to get.

<I’ve got line-of-sight on the scoop,> Marco said. He felt an immediate flare of anxiety like the breath was being crushed out of his chest. <Chill out, Ax. Everything’s going as planned.>

< _You are literally unable to lie to me right now. > _

<Wouldn’t you be disappointed in me if I just stopped trying?> Marco twisted one eye crest up to look at the moons the way Andalites checked their internal watches. <How am I on time, and what’s the ETA on Gonrod’s next ritual, presuming he does them?>

< _You have approximately eighty-six of your minutes left in this morph. I will alert you when you are close. If we are right and Gonrod adheres to traditional ritual times, he should perform his evening ritual before your morph time runs out. Did you find cover near the closest running water source in anticipation of the ritual? > _

_Shit,_ Marco swore internally. <Yes,> he lied. Ax sighed loudly and Marco’s heartrate keyed up in response. <Dude. Take a nap or something, you’re freaking me out. I’m just gonna follow him. It’s fine.>

Marco had never been great at stakeouts, and especially not at doing them alone. At least during the war, he’d usually had Ax and Tobias or even Cassie to distract him. He needed this to go off without a hitch and he’d already been almost eaten twice. At least that felt like old times.

There was no movement, no indication that the well-camouflaged scoop was even occupied for what felt like an eternity. Real Marco was restless and wanted to move. Bird Marco was stupid and wanted to yell. Soldier Marco knew he had to stay still and quiet and wait it out.

<Time check,> Marco asked.

< _You have twenty-three minutes left in morph._ Calithil _just began transiting_ Erathli _, so he could begin his ritual at any time. > _Impatiently, he added, _ <Since you don’t know how far away his ritual site is and you don’t know when he will come out, are you going to reset your morph?> _

<No,> Marco said. He was already going to be at a significant disadvantage in his Andalite morph, even without morph fatigue. He couldn’t risk demorphing, morphing _merulan_ , demorphing again, and morphing Andalite unless he had to. <Let me know when I’m at ten minutes.>

< _I do not like this. > _

Marco shifted his feet, the two tools he’d brought rattling against each other. He didn’t respond to Ax. Doing the long-range walkie-talkie thing meant Ax was just as aware of how thrilled Marco was as Marco was of how Ax felt. Ax didn’t have to say it, either, but Ax had also only been dealing with serious mental illness for like six months. Marco was a veteran. He could cut Ax some slack.

Marco snapped out of his boredom trance when he saw the top of Gonrod’s scoop retract and Gonrod himself step up out of it. Marco scrabbled with his awkwardly long legs and clumsy talons to secure his two objects so they wouldn’t dangle and expose his suspiciously unbirdlike agenda.

< _Ten minutes,_ > Ax warned, just as Marco was getting ready to take off.

<Shit,> Marco hissed.

He made the snap decision to take to the sky anyway. There was no way he’d be able to track Gonrod if he reset the morph now. He fluttered from tree to tree as quickly as possible. It was impossible to stay out of an Andalite’s field of vision. He could only keep his time in the air brief and hope he wasn’t spotted.

Gonrod ran faster than Marco could fly, especially when he was touching down as often as possible. Marco gave a mental sigh of relief when Gonrod finally came to a stop at the river Marco had been following all day. It was even more of a relief that he’d picked a spot right under a pair of curly muppet trees.

< _Five minutes, > _Ax said, his sharp thought-speak twisting up Marco’s insides. Marco didn’t have time to reassure Ax. He didn’t have time, period.

He landed as high as he could, then hopped up into the dense puff of leaves, burrowing in until they were too interwoven for him to go any further without making noise. Marco stared at Gonrod while he demorphed, watching his stalk eyes for any sign that he’d noticed the _merulan_ that had been tailing him. As soon as Marco had hands, he grabbed the two items he’d been carrying, pulled them free of the keychain he’d used to transport them, then held tight to the branch he was on. Now that he was growing, he wasn’t sure if the branch could support his weight. He did his best to shift back to the thickest point, where the branch met the trunk of the tree, but he was already feeling claustrophobic from the dense, fibrous leaves wrapped around him.

The more human Marco became, the more his heart beat hard and hot like it was trying to escape up his throat. He tried to focus on steadying his breathing; he was barely short of hyperventilating. He was tangled up and smothering in what felt like the stuffing of a cheap pillow, looking down on a criminal who could kill him with one flick of his tail. Even if everything had gone according to plan, and it hadn’t, basically every path in this choose-your-own-fucked-up-adventure was a “you have died, start again on page one” ending. Except in real life, there was no flipping back.

Marco couldn’t take his eyes off the Andalite warrior who was definitely going to kill him. He pictured his Andalite morph. His body didn’t respond with anything but heaving breaths and waves of cold chills. He could only see the ways that his morph wasn’t built for fighting the way Gonrod was. He couldn’t picture anything but how it would look when Gonrod carved him up like he was back in that slaughterhouse. Frame-by-frame, all the times he’d been sliced up, eviscerated, torn apart, eaten alive, buried alive, nearly trapped, nearly faced fates worse than death ran behind his eyes. Somehow, this panic-induced slideshow was actually reassuring. He’d lived through all that. What was one Andalite? He grit his teeth, held his breath, clutched his two pathetic weapons in either hand, and the changes finally started.

He straddled the branch with his back pressed against the thick, fibrous foliage, as close to the trunk of the tree as he’d been able to get. When his Andalite front legs burst from his chest, he didn’t have his tail yet to act as a counterweight. His body fell forward.

CRACK!

Marco’s hearts stopped. The branch held, but only barely. Gonrod froze in the middle of his ritual. He looked up, first with one stalk eye, then with his main eyes. Marco thought he was probably still camouflaged by the leaves, since his striped and mottled fur had just sprouted. But if he wasn’t, he and Gonrod were making eye contact.

At least his Andalite brain pushed away the fear and the panic. His Andalite brain knew he was clever and Gonrod wasn’t, and that would give him the edge he needed. His Andalite brain felt good about his chances.

Had the Andalites really attained galactic supremacy with just a positive attitude and perseverance?

Gonrod came closer, standing directly under the tree, staring up at where Marco was hiding. Marco slipped his right hand into the brass knuckles-shaped device, pulled down the safety tab, and put his finger on the trigger of the other device in his left hand.

Andalites hadn’t become the cops of the galaxy through the power of positive thinking. Marco knew better. Power was the same everywhere. The Andalites were the cops of the galaxy because they had their opponents outarmed. Well, Earth had cops too, and their weapons could be purchased at Target.

Marco slipped his tail blade through the tangle of leaves and dropped down, hooves first, into Gonrod’s spine. He was already spraying the police-grade pepper spray point blank into Gonrod’s four eyes. Andalites didn’t scream like humans, but Marco felt the wave of agony and confusion that was their equivalent.

Gonrod jerked, swinging his tail and throwing his legs out to stay on his feet. Marco miraculously dodged Gonrod’s first blind sweep and managed to connect a punch with his right hand. He fired the stun gun straight into Gonrod’s spine.

The electrical crackling made Marco’s ears ring. Gonrod’s body seized and his legs curled up underneath him. After several more seconds, he went down. His tail jerked and then went limp along with the rest of him. When it fell, Marco was pulled forward. He felt a sick lurch and stumbled toward Gonrod.

Marco looked down, his head already swimming. Gonrod’s blade was lodged deep in his side, just under his ribcage. Dark blue blood gushed out around it. Gonrod had managed to land a second strike before he’d been immobilized.

Sluggish and foggy, Marco struggled to remember the first lesson Ax had given him and Tobias about tailfighting. There were a few places he’d warned that a well-placed strike would cause an Andalite to bleed out in seconds. Marco couldn’t remember. His brains may as well have been trickling out as fast as his blood. It didn’t matter. He needed to demorph regardless.

Then he saw it—Gonrod’s limp tail growing taut between them, being sucked into his body like a noodle. Gonrod’s morphing pulled his blade free from Marco’s side. Marco wasn’t going to win a morphing race against anyone, even Gonrod, who had probably morphed less in his whole life than Marco did in a week. Marco could only pass through human safely if Gonrond was definitely unconscious. Marco pressed his fist into Gonrod’s neck and gave an extra long, deafening pulse of the stun gun. Gonrod went limp mid-morph.

Without Gonrod’s blade acting as a stopper, Marco’s blood poured out like a waterfall. His knees nearly buckled. Pushing back the fear and the fatigue and the failure, Marco started to demorph. While he waited for his wound to stabilize, he stared at Gonrod, distant horror gnawing underneath everything else. Even mildly delirious, exhausted, and crashing into his human body’s fight-or-flight response, Marco silently pleaded for him to still be alive. Murder was the last resort, not Plan A.

As soon as the bleeding slowed, Marco shuffled away on two half-formed legs. He had to put some distance between himself and Gonrod. Hopefully, Gonrod would stay out long enough to miss Marco passing through human to get back to Andalite.

Marco was still holding his side, even though the wound had closed. His increasingly human hands were streaked with Andalite blood. His breaths came in desperate rasps, the pulse of adrenaline loud in his head. That was the one thing his human body did better than his Andalite body. The fatigue didn’t matter when he was human and he was fighting for his life.

Marco begged his body to morph faster, his eyes locked on Gonrod. He was just starting to morph Andalite when Gonrod started to shrink again. Marco couldn’t tell what he was morphing into, or if he planned to run or fight. If Marco could catch him mid-morph, he could still get control of the situation. He tightened his fists around the stun knuckles and the pepper spray.

Wings sprouted along Gonrod’s sides, and his face stretched out into a javelin. _Kafit_. Of course. It was the only morph Andalite warriors seemed to have. Marco wasn’t at all sick of them yet.

Steeling himself, Marco charged for Gonrod while he was still morphing. He attempted to strike Gonrod’s head with the blunt edge of his blade, but the _kafit’_ s head was too small and mobile a target. Marco missed twice, gave up, and wound his tail around the middle of the bird between the first two pairs of wings.

Gonrod thrashed like a pinned snake. Marco aimed his pepper spray at Gonrod’s four beady bird eyes. Gonrod was more prepared this time and speared his beak at Marco’s hand. The pepper spray flew up in a slow motion arc and landed a dozen feet away. Marco swore and constricted his tail around Gonrod’s middle.

<Who are you!> Gonrod bellowed, beating his serpentine body and six sharp wings against Marco’s tail and sides.

<I’m the one asking the questions,> Marco replied.

<You have not asked me anything!> Gonrod was corkscrewing, his six strong wings almost able to lift both him and Marco. Marco’s hooves traced deep tracks into the dry ground.

<Stop struggling! I don’t want to have to shoot you again,> Marco threatened. To punctuate the threat, he pressed the trigger on the stun gun. The loud crackle echoed through Marco’s eardrums like his skull was vibrating.

Gonrod tensed reflexively at the sound. He twisted the front half of his body around to the point where Marco’s tail wrapped around him. There was no way for Marco to dodge. Gonrod reared back and stabbed his long beak into the base of Marco’s tail. Marco screamed and his tail coiled up reflexively. Gonrod slipped out of his grip, beat his wings against Marco, and spiraled up into the sky.

<Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ! > Marco thrashed his still-throbbing tail in anger. He buried his blade deep in the ground. <God _dammit. > _

Working his blade back and forth to free himself, Marco watched Gonrod fly off. He’d be too far for Marco to even think about tracking by the time Marco could morph something capable of pursuit. Marco tightened his fists so hard the edges of the metal stun knuckles bit into his hands.

While Marco was racing through his options now that Plan A had failed, a second _kafit_ shot out of a tree, and slammed into Gonrod. They both dropped, but stayed airborne. For a couple minutes, the two birds weaved around each other like long, wiggly fighter jets. Gonrod was still trying to escape. The attacking _kafit_ was out for blood. Maybe it was the same one that had been trying to eat Marco. It wound itself around Gonrod, threading its body between his three pairs of wings. They both crashed and skidded several meters along the dry ground.

<You could help me out here!> Tobias said, his thought-speak harried by Gonrod’s attempt to thrash out of his grasp.

< _Tobias?_ >

Relief and astonishment and renewed hope exploded in Marco’s chest like a burst of fireworks. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so overjoyed to hear Tobias’ voice. It had definitely been years. As much as Tobias had resented Marco since the end of the war, and as much as Marco had accepted that Tobias hated him since they’d arrived on Andalite, clearly they had too much between them for Tobias to let Marco go on such a dangerous mission with no back up.

<Nooo,> Tobias replied sarcastically. <It’s just a regular old wild _kafit_ , attacking an evenly-matched foe like any sensible predator would do. Crazy how _kafits_ evolved the ability to detect asses in need of saving. >

Oh, yeah. That was why Marco didn’t look forward to hearing Tobias’ voice.

Reality crashed into Marco, a glass of ice water thrown in the face of his stupid Andalite optimism. Obviously, Ax had asked Tobias to follow him. Obviously, it wasn’t Tobias’ idea. Not only did Marco need someone to bail him out, it had to be done by someone who hated him, and Ax had rightly not trusted him to be able to pull it off.

Marco squinted at the two _kafits_ locked in a violent tangle of wings and beaks. His plan could have worked if he’d not been tailed and hunted by a deranged bird. Was it a coincidence he’d been stalked by a hungry _kafit_ the entire way, and then Tobias just showed up out of nowhere in _kafit_ morph?

Marco couldn’t tell Tobias from Gonrod, but one of them reared up and slammed the other into the ground. Marco started jogging toward them. He’d have time for conspiracy theories later. Hopefully.

Closing the distance, he could tell that Gonrod had started demorphing. Tobias had pecked two of his four eyes and blood was streaming down Gonrod’s face. Tobias was valiantly trying to peck at his other eyes, even as his face flattened out into an Andalite face.

Gonrod quickly had a size advantage. He rolled over Tobias until Tobias couldn’t hang on anymore without being crushed. Tobias twisted and coiled to right himself, but at least two of his wings had been broken in the struggle. He lunged toward Gonrod, now mostly Andalite, and Gonrod knocked him away with a sick crunch of blade against bird skull.

<Tobias!> Marco shouted automatically. His own concern surprised him.

Marco had stopped at what he thought was a safe distance, but Gonrod had probably spotted him as soon as his stalk eyes had sprouted. With no hesitation, Gonrod charged. Marco hadn’t absorbed how big Gonrod was until it became completely clear that his striking range was practically double Marco’s. Marco only managed to dodge Gonrod’s first strike because he knew it was coming.

When Marco and Tobias had first gotten their Andalite morphs, Ax had attempted to train them to fight. It was part self defense, part bonding exercise. Ax was too stubborn to give up on Tobias and Marco getting along again someday. Classic hopeful, sincere Ax. But even Ax had to give up on Marco’s tail fighting ability. Marco’s finely-honed video game reflexes somehow didn’t translate to maneuvering his body, swinging his blade around, and predicting his opponent’s own knife whips before they happened, all at the same time.

Gonrod was at least a foot taller than Marco. His tail’s reach advantage was at least twice that. Marco managed to knock Gonrod’s blade aside twice with lucky swings. He still took the blows, but not with the sharp edge. He dodged another strike mostly by virtue of being a small target. His only chance in hell was if he could get into close range and use the taser again. But Gonrod kept him on the defensive. Instead of closing the gap between them, Marco had to jump further and further back to dodge Gonrod’s blade whistling past.

Gonrod’s hooves moved with the confidence of a battle-hardened warrior. Marco could see him passing between formations he’d learned like Marco learned football plays. He knew he could have broken the code if he’d ever learned it. If Marco had the training, if he knew the steps, he could have gotten the advantage. Gonrod had been called a coward. Marco didn’t hate to lose to a coward. He hated that he was going to lose to someone who was predictable.

He saw Gonrod shift his weight back for a final strike. He’d be bearing down on Marco before Marco would know which direction he’d be coming from. It was over.

Marco flinched back, but instead of not being able to block Gonrod’s tail blade, he had to dodge his whole hindquarters sweeping around 180 degrees. Marco heard the sharp crash of blade on blade, somewhere between two swords skimming off each other and the crack of bone hitting bone.

Tobias had morphed Andalite. His blade was locked with Gonrod’s. Gonrod had spotted him with his stalk eyes and turned before Marco registered he was there. Their blades made a _shnnnk_ sound against each other as they slipped apart. It sounded like the katanas in those boring Kurosawa movies directors were always impressed he could reference. He had Tobias to thank for a lot of things. In this moment, his _life_ was maybe a little higher on the list than his introduction to samurai movies.

Tobias caught Gonrod’s next two strikes with this blade. The third left a shallow gash oozing across his shoulder. Tobias shrugged it off and slid fluidly into deflecting the next blow. Marco watched their hooves with a stalk eye. If Gonrod’s hooves were doing a structured waltz, Tobias’ were doing some kind of contemporary ballet. He transitioned smoothly between stances like adjusting his wings to the changes in the wind.

Gonrod had the training and the experience. Tobias had whatever it was that had always lit Ax up from the inside and taken over his body when he was surrounded by twenty Hork-Bajir with nothing but his blade and a prayer. Gonrod probably knew his life was on the line. Tobias probably still felt like he had nothing to lose in that way he’d always perceived people caring about him as nothing.

Tobias reared up on his back legs, kicking out at Gonrod and going for a low strike at his legs at the same time. Gonrod was forced to take two huge, heavy steps back toward Marco.

All the blood came rushing into Marco’s head. He actually, physically experienced that moment in _The Matrix_ where all the sound shrinks into a point and time freezes so the camera can pan around to the most badass angle.

CR-R-R-R-RAK!

Marco hit Gonrod in the flank with the stun knuckles. It wasn’t the most effective place to stun an Andalite, but Marco had to take the shot. Gonrod immediately flinched, twisting his body around involuntarily. He locked eyes with Marco. His stumbling hooves found solid purchase. He reared back for the final blow against Marco that Tobias had interrupted.

The entire last foot of Tobias’ tail slipped around Gonrod’s neck like a noose. He pressed his blade into Gonrod’s neck just underneath his ear. Gonrod froze.

<Touchdown,> Marco said.

<What?> Gonrod barked. His hooves slid beneath him, belying the coward who had been there all along.

Marco stepped in front of Gonrod, pulling himself up as tall and stiff as he could. <Tell us what we need to know.>

<I have no idea what you need to know,> Gonrod said, sounding like forming words was a strain. <You have ambushed me with no explanation.>

<We know everything,> Marco pressed.

<If you know everything, then what can I tell you that you don’t know?>

<Touché,> Tobias whispered. Marco swore he saw a twinkle of an Andalite smile at his expense.

<Do you really think you’re in a position to be impertinent?>

Marco stomped his hoof into the ground between them. He was trying to assert dominance, but their size difference just made Marco feel like a petulant child having a tantrum. Gonrod looked down with his stalk eyes and his main eyes didn’t look impressed.

<Stop trying to sound like a James Bond villain, you idiot,> Tobias chided.

<We know about your work with Arbat-Elivat-Estoni,> Marco elaborated.

<And who _are_ you, the two worst _aristh_ assassins in the Academy? > Gonrod scoffed. He was playing it off, but he’d tucked his tail under his body and was still shifting his hooves.

Marco pressed his stun gun into the ruff of fur over Gonrod’s sternum. <Listen,> Marco hissed. <I have documentation of your work on unauthorized missions, under personnel who were acting without authorization from high command. It was treason and it has cost hundreds of innocent people their lives. You’re going to tell me what you know.> To punctuate the implicit threat, Marco ground the sharp electrodes into Gonrod’s skin.

<I only took orders,> Gonrod said, his thought-speech defiant and simple at the same time. <I did not know where the orders came from or who signed off on them. I received coordinates, and I flew ships. I did what I was told, like every warrior in the fleet.>

<Yeah, until you figured out you were on a suicide mission,> Marco accused. <That’s why you’re living the good life out here.> He waved his hand abstractly at the shabby grasslands.

<Yes,> Gonrod agreed reluctantly. <But just because I abandoned my post against orders to save my own life does not mean I was aware of the intent of the mission.>

<Were you aware that Arbat was colluding with Visser Three?>

Gonrod’s expression hardened. <No.> Marco could tell he was telling the truth. Gonrod continued, his words clipped, <You have read my reports. You know I was a puppet. The only thing that I know is that I was not the only puppet. You will not learn anything more by continuing to shock and deafen me with that implement.>

<What about the pepper spray?> Marco joked. Tobias’ expression over Gonrod’s shoulder was the Andalite equivalent of _oh my god_.  <I can get it, it’s just right over there.>

<Blind, deaf, and immobilized, I will tell you the same thing,> Gonrod confirmed.

<Do you have any idea why you were tapped for these missions?> Marco continued.

<I fought in the Hork-Bajir War. My commanders made decisions then that were worse than anything I witnessed in the subsequent years. Why should I have doubted the sources of my orders? Perhaps that is why.>

<So were most of the warriors you shared assignments with veterans of the Hork-Bajir War?> Marco demanded.

<I can’t say,> Gonrod said. <It was not beyond my notice that many of the squads I piloted were familiar. But I never compiled statistics.>

<And the command structure? Did you always take orders from Arbat?>

<You will not get the information you want from me or anyone whose name I knew. They are all dead or exiled. As far as I am aware, there are very few loose strings to be pulled.> Gonrod met Marco’s eyes again, his glare hard and serious. <I only know of one person who may be able to provide you with the information you seek, because only one person was there at both the beginning and the end.>

Marco glared at Gonrod. <Alloran.> It wasn’t a guess, it was just a confirmation of the unspoken truth they all knew. <If I could contact Alloran, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on a nobody like you. No one knows how to find him.>

<His mate Jahar is surely protecting him. She always did,> Gonrod said. Marco could hear his disdain, like maybe Gonrod thought the protection of a female was something to be ashamed of. <But whomever you are working for should send better operatives. These petty threats won’t work against her.>

Marco met Tobias’ eyes. Tobias seemed to get his unspoken cue and tightened his tail around Gonrod’s neck until the warrior’s breathing was restricted. His stalk eyes spun in temporary panic, then froze.

<We aren’t going to kill you,> Marco said. <But we are monitoring your communications. If you attempt to contact anyone-->

<Please,> Gonrod interrupted. His thought-speech was brittle, like the old man that he basically was. <I want nothing to do with your supposed conspiracy. I care nothing for your cause or the cause of those you oppose. My loyalties lie only to myself. Leave me in peace.>

Marco nodded at Tobias. Tobias snaked his tail away from Gonrod’s throat. Gonrod immediately sagged, his muscles releasing all the worked up tension. <Go home,> Marco commanded. <We will be watching.>

<You will be bored,> Gonrod retorted. He brushed past Tobias and ran off in the direction of his scoop.

Marco and Tobias stood together until he was out of sight. They both scanned warily for any sign of Gonrod doubling back or some other threat to cap off this adventure. Through some shared microexpression of _I guess it’s okay to go,_ they both began running off in the other direction.

They had to get some distance before they could demorph. Luckily, neither of their morphs had taken much damage and Andalites were built for endurance. They were able to cover almost as much ground as they would have in raptor morph. It was definitely faster than it had been on the way there in _merulan_ morph. It didn’t hurt that no local wildlife was out for his blood on their way home.

After they’d been running for a while, Marco came to a stop. They still weren’t out of the relatively bare grasslands. The best he could do for cover was a pair of truffula trees and a bush. He started demorphing. Tobias skid to a halt next to him.

<Was it you?> The question had been gnawing at Marco since Tobias had appeared. Now that it seemed like they were safe, Marco knew it wouldn’t let go until he said it out loud. <Were you the _kafit_ that tried to kill me on my way here?>

Tobias, shrinking rapidly, stared up at Marco like he’d grown a second head. < _What?_ >

“Oh, don’t act like you’d never do such a heinous thing.” Marco had his human voice back, which made it easier to affect a mock-innocent tone.

<Ax asked me to make sure you didn’t get killed,> Tobias said. <Why in the world would I attack you while I was supposed to be helping you?>

“To sabotage me? To set me up to fail so you could swoop in and save me and show Uncle Ax you completed your probation with good behavior?”

Tobias was fully hawk again. Marco got the feeling if he was anything else, he’d be doing the species-appropriate equivalent of wide-eyed blinking, mouth agape. <Uh huh,> Tobias said slowly. <And you say I’m the crazy one.>

“It’s not mutually exclusive,” Marco muttered. Human again, he leaned into the curved trunk of the nearest tree. He was exhausted. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he still wasn’t sure if he believed Tobias. They say you never forget your first time being dive-bombed and having your neck broken. “So you watched two _kafits_ try to eat me and didn’t think ‘oh, maybe I should do something?’”

<I live with _kafits_ every day, > Tobias scoffed. <I was pretty sure even you could handle one trip.>

“I’m pretty sure you just wanted to make a dramatic entrance,” Marco muttered. He took a deep breath, pressed his fists into the smooth tree trunk, and started morphing again.

<Is that owl?> Tobias asked when the distinguishing features were apparent. <It’s not even dark.>

<One, better stealth,> Marco said. <And two, I think you of all _people_ get having trouble with a morph when something bad happens to you in it. >

The feathers at the ruff of Tobias’ chest puffed up. <You’re such a dick.>

They finished morphing and took to the sky. Marco followed Tobias’ lead and he took them higher than they’d ever flown on Earth. There was no cloud cover, so the only thing they could hope for was getting high enough to be UFOs.

<So you really haven’t morphed osprey since…>

<Since my former friend and comrade threatened to murder me then gave me a sneak peek?> Marco finished. There was a bite in his words that made it clear he wasn’t joking around. <No, I haven’t.>

They flew in awkward silence for probably about an hour. This wasn’t tension you could cut with just any old steak knife. For this tension, you’d need at least a Ginsu knife, possibly a samurai sword, and maybe a chainsaw.

Tobias finally broke while circling overhead, waiting for Marco to demorph, remorph, and power his bone-tired body back up into the sky. <I’m sorry,> he said.

Marco laughed harshly. <Don’t apologize if it’s just for Ax’s sake.>

<So what if it is?> Tobias snapped back immediately. The silence fell between them again for another few minutes. Marco couldn’t tell if Tobias was trying to get his words in order or if he was just pausing for dramatic effect. <Anyway. No one was in their best place right after we rescued Ax. I wasn’t making good decisions.>

<I know you were coocoo for Cocoa Puffs, dude,> Marco scoffed.

He looked up at the stars, shining faintly behind the moonlight. There was something so nostalgic about trying to hash out problems in the sky the way normal kids—normal adults?—could only talk things out on a road trip. Their lives would never, never be normal, but sometimes the weird shit could feel normal.

<I get you wanting to protect Ax,> Marco said. <I know why you thought you needed to, after the way I was on _the Rachel._ >

<I shouldn’t have done what I did.>

<Well, _no_ ,> Marco agreed.

A little more silence. A lot more flying.

<When I saw you try to push him, it wasn’t just about you and him anymore.> Tobias’ thought-speak was tremulous and vulnerable. It felt like if they’d both been human, Tobias might have been crying on his shoulder. Thank heaven for small mercies that that would probably never happen.

<I know,> Marco said, hoping Tobias would be relieved not to have to elaborate. <I knew when you did it that it was about protecting him from things that have hurt you. It’s not like people haven’t been caught in my trauma crossfire.>

<If you understood, then why did you have to be such an asshole about it?> Tobias asked. <I’ve wanted to apologize so many times, and every time I think I’m ready, you bring it up in the most unsympathetic way. Then I remember all the times you went too far that _you_ never apologized for and I think ‘why bother?’ >

They flew in silence again for a while. Only one small moon lit the Andalite sky. The deep red sky pressed in around them, the color of dried blood and old wounds.

Marco knew Tobias. He knew Tobias kept his feelings locked up in a safe because there were too many and he felt them too much. Marco knew how to use guilt and sincerity like a key to the safe. It would be so much easier on Ax if Tobias could finally chill. Plus maybe Tobias had some more dorky black and white films up his little bird sleeve for Marco to reference so he could fuck more screenwriters if he ever got back to Earth. That wouldn’t be so bad. He just had to tell Tobias what he wanted to hear.

<You know me. You know I joke about the things that hurt the most,> Marco said quietly, like he thought he was actually admitting something. <The worst part wasn’t that you tried to _kill_ me. The worst part was that _you_ tried to kill me. You know? > Tobias didn’t say anything. <Like, we made it through the war because we all knew we could depend on you. You and I haven’t always been best friends, but I always trusted you.>

<Sorry,> Tobias apologized again, softly. Marco was pretty sure he just had to bring it home now.

<We _were_ friends though, > Marco said, trying to match Tobias’ level. <I miss that.>

Suddenly, Marco felt like he’d dived into an invisible fish tank. The air pressed in on him. He couldn’t breathe. His wings were heavy. He fell like a rock. His preservation instinct kicked in and he pulled back to let the owl brain take over. The owl kept him from turning into a skid mark on the ground.

<Marco?> Tobias called out. <What happened?>

Marco regained altitude, but his tiny bird heart was still thumping like it was about to burst out of his chest. How had he not noticed how long it had been since Ax said anything? <Ax? Are you okay?>

< _Don’t come home, > _Ax’s shaky thought-speak came through their link like a call with bad reception.

<What’s wrong?> Marco asked, his own panic swirling with Ax’s. He felt like he was powering his wings through ice cold jello.

< _Our scoop has been compromised. Don’t come home. > _


	32. Chapter 32

AXIMILI

Aximili paced the perimeter of his parents’ scoop.

He was alone. He didn’t want to be alone, not really, but his mother and father had gone to his scoop to collect evidence. Aximili’s first ridiculous instinct had been to contact proper authorities--the military police. They were the only law enforcement homeworld had. The Andalite military was the most powerful in the galaxy. Why should they need a separate body to enforce laws? Only recently had Aximili realized the conflict of interest having no civilian law enforcement created.

Something in him still wanted to believe that it was random and he had not been targeted by his enemies or by those behind whatever conspiracy Marco had uncovered. But Andalites did not rob each other. For one, everything one could want was freely available to all but criminals. For another, most Andalites had few possessions, and fewer still of anything worth stealing.

It was unusual that Aximili had so much in his scoop. It was unusual that Aximili had a bed and a couch and a television. Aximili had panicked too much at what he had come home to, at the violation, at the thought that he wasn’t safe anywhere--he hadn’t been able to survey how much of Marco’s presence had been uncovered. Would another Andalite see Marco’s possessions and assume that a human was cohabiting there? Or would they look at them and think _this is yet more of Aximili the alien lover’s bizarre perversion_?

Neither option was desirable, but one was certainly preferable. That both were true was inconsequential.

Aximili paced, feeling the shake still in his hooves and the aching numbness in his knees. His first instinct had been to contact his prince, but he had fought that down. Like a scared child, he had run to his parents instead. He was so unable to deal with his problems that his parents had to investigate the security breach in his own home. His boyfriend and nephew had to confront the military traitor to uncover traces of the conspiracy that had gotten Elfangor killed and Aximili imprisoned in his own body. Becoming a prince had rendered Aximili more powerless than when he was a child at the bottom of an alien ocean, waiting for death. He may as well have never been rescued the first time or the second time.

His whole body tensed and he whirled at the sound of his parents’ door opening. He lowered his tail when he saw the two familiar birds swoop in. Tobias landed on his perch and Marco came to a silent landing in front of Aximili and began to demorph.

Aximili hadn’t sensed their arrival. He had blocked off his connection with Marco before he had even found their scoop in shambles. He had been unable to control the maelstrom of both their fears mingling when Marco had been about to face Gonrod. Aximili’s panic had nearly gotten Marco killed. Except to contact Marco and brief him on the situation, Aximili had kept up the wall between them. Sharing emotions with Marco was sometimes too intense on a normal day, let alone when they were both upset and tired and afraid.

Marco morphed slowly, like he could barely force his body to call up his own form. When he was human, he put his arms around Aximili’s waist and fisted his hands into the fur on Aximili’s back so hard it was almost painful. Marco’s body was shaking. Aximili could tell that this was an emotional reaction, but it was also an exhausted one--if Aximili had taken two steps backward, Marco would have just fallen face first into the dirt.

They stood like this for several minutes until Marco, still leaning on him, started babbling. “I don’t--I can’t--How--”

<Oh my god,> Tobias said. <He’s speechless. After all these years, it only took a near death experience and a home invasion in the same night. If only we’d known, we could have raided his house after every mission.>

Marco moved one arm away from Aximili’s back to brandish a middle finger at Tobias before burying his face in Aximili’s chest fur again.

<Are you okay, Ax-man?> Tobias asked, tilting his head into one of the few human gestures he had left.

<Don’t ask me that,> Aximili said quickly. He hadn’t meant to sound resentful or terse. Tobias froze and then began preening his feathers again, like he always did when he was nervous. <I’m sorry. It is just that the two of you were in actual danger.>

<I mean, if they had broken in when you were there-->

“I wish they had!” Marco said, nearly shouting. Aximili winced and folded his ears back. “If they’d broken in and Ax had been home, he’d have _fucking murdered_ them and at least someone on this godforsaken planet would get what they deserved.”

<Yeah, and that wouldn’t have gotten him in trouble or anything,> Tobias said weakly.

“Shut up,” Marco snapped. “Ax, let’s go home. We’ll find who did this and then you can show them what it actually means to be your enemy.”

Aximili’s hearts were racing again. He wasn’t sure if it was residual fear resurfacing or some horrible excitement at the thought of being able to finally do _anything_ about the things that had been happening to and around him.

<My parents are taking care of it,> Aximili said reluctantly.

“Pssh, okay, sure,” Marco scoffed. “No offense, but if your parents have been ‘taking care of it’ so far, they’ve obviously not done a great job.”

Now Aximili’s breaths had quickened and his legs felt stiff and frozen again. He had been afraid for so long, it was turning into annoyance. <You can’t even stand on your own,> he said impatiently. To demonstrate, he stepped back and Marco’s legs immediately folded under him. Catlike, Marco managed to at least look like he meant to just sit down where he stood.

“Oof,” he grunted. “Okay, you made your point. Let’s go home, I’ll take a power nap, _then_ we’ll deal with the intruder.”

<You are being irrational. We don’t know if it is safe, we don’t know if they know you are human, and we don’t know if they are still monitoring me.> Aximili listed off these points on his fingers. <If they are, you cannot be seen outside as a human.>

Marco fell backwards so he was lying on his back on the floor. “Shit.” Marco dug his fingers into his hair and pulled his knees up to his chest. “I hate just sitting here and doing nothing!”

<How do you think I feel?> Aximili muttered.

Marco flattened out on his back again and stared up at the top of the scoop. Usually it was transparent and showed the sky, but now it was opaque and dark. Aximili watched Marco’s breaths even out as the three of them fell into silence.

Of course, Marco could only tolerate silence for approximately one-point-seven Andalite minutes.

“Not that I’m saying Andalites aren’t the pinnacle of evolutionary perfection,” Marco mumbled, his forearm over his eyes. His words were slurring in that way that meant that he was finally crashing. “I’m just saying that beds are really great and the fact that your people don’t get that means that something is fundamentally wrong with them.”

<Andalites do not need beds,> Aximili said. <The fact that I have one has jeopardized us now.>

Marco weakly waved his hand. “Whatever, dude. You like beds more than most people. It’s one a’ the things we have in common.”  His hand flopped back down next to his ear and he murmured, “I’m so fucking tired.”

<You know who else apparently liked beds?> Tobias said. He had stopped preening his feathers and was staring intently at Marco. Aximili suspected that Tobias would have prefered some space after everything he and Marco had been through. He was staying for Aximili’s sake. <Elfangor.>

< _What_? > Aximili responded sharply. Tobias looked up at him and met his main eyes. His hawk’s gaze was severe and even as always. It betrayed no guilt or unease, unlike Tobias’ thought-speech.

<There’s a bed in Elfangor’s room,> Tobias said.

<How do you know that?>

<Your parents gave me access. It’s weird. I don’t really go in there. But there is a bed.>

Before Aximili had to say he didn’t want Marco in Elfangor’s room or his bed, Marco muttered, “As tempting as sleeping in a dead man’s bed is, I’m gonna have to pass.”

Aximili let out his breath, relieved he could deal with this revelation later. He’d been chastising himself for hours that he had been so foolish. It was too much for him to process that Elfangor had also attempted to bring a piece of Earth home, and that his parents had to deal with two incomplete sons trying to make themselves whole across dozens of light years. Had Elfangor told himself he would bring Loren and Tobias to homeworld, the way Aximili had told himself he would bring Tobias and Marco? Would Elfangor be gratified that at least Tobias had eventually made it?

It was too much. Too much, after Aximili had panicked like a coward and almost gotten Marco killed. Too much, after Aximili had already arrived home to his security system tripped, his neural recognition locks bypassed, and signs that his personal data and communication logs had been copied. Too much, after this violation had pulled him under, down and down until he was drowning in the black, crushing feeling of being inside The One again. Never safe. Never alone. No control.

Tobias fluttered over to Aximili and landed on his tail blade. The weight of his _shorm_  was grounding enough that Aximili’s thoughts stopped spiraling. Tobias shifted so that one talon gripped Aximili’s flesh instead of his blade. He squeezed--not enough to do any harm, but enough to make Aximili draw in a sharp breath that brought his vision back into focus.

<You okay?> Tobias said privately.

Aximili shook his head back and forth, like a human. Perhaps he was metaphorically clearing his thoughts. Perhaps he was answering Tobias. Aximili himself wasn’t sure.

Tobias jerked his head in surprise toward a sharp snore that escaped from Marco. Aximili looked at Marco’s still body and even breaths. He hadn’t expected him to be able to sleep with the situation still so uncertain, but he was thankful. He had wanted a moment alone with Tobias.

<Thank you for going with him,> Aximili said.

<Don’t worry about it,> Tobias replied, too quickly. He was still staring at Marco.

<If you hadn’t-->

<I know,> Tobias interrupted.

Tobias rarely desired discussion when he was processing things, especially when they were upsetting. Aximili understood. He had never worked through such things by talking about them, either. Hoping his expression of gratitude was simple enough to seem final, Aximili said, <I appreciate what you have done for me.>

<Who said I did it for you,> Tobias said so faintly, it was less than a whisper. <I’m gonna go. Keep me posted.>

Tobias took off at the same time the scoop entrance slid open and Aximili’s parents entered side-by-side. Tobias let out a surprised screech and swerved on his way out. Forlay, whose presence felt like a cloud covering the suns, couldn’t sneak up on Aximili, even when he was distracted by a million other things. The foremost distraction, in that moment, was that his mother and father were both carrying bedding and pillows.

Forlay stopped in front of Marco, who was still curled up quietly on the floor. She looked down on him. Aximili felt the expected wave of disdain, but what he hadn’t expected to feel was her concern and the vaguest hint of affection. She stacked Marco’s pillows next to him, then helped Noorlin cover him with his comforter before stepping over him to get to her workstation.

Two dozen holo screens flared to life and the usual feeds began to scroll. Forlay cleared out four screens and began to display data Aximili recognized as high-detail security logs. One screen flickered then displayed a video feed of Aximili’s ransacked living area. Immediately, Aximili’s hearts began to race. He felt like he was in a vacuum and the air had been pressed out of his lungs.

Aximili shook his head. He had already seen it. Why did seeing it again bring back the same feeling as when he’d first discovered it? The feeling of strange, dirty hands reaching into him, touching him, rearranging his insides without his permission…

Aximili jerked away from his father’s hand on his shoulder. He’d moved reflexively, as if he hadn’t seen Noorlin reach out for him. <Aximili-kala,> his father said gently.  

Aximili wished he could show his parents that he was strong and brave and honorable. But for the third time that day, he felt like his body was running off without him, reacting to predators that either weren’t there or were already gone. At least this time his panic wasn’t channeling through to Marco and almost getting him killed.

<I am sorry,> Aximili said. He felt all the failures and disappointments and poor decisions echo through him like an empty well.

<Do not apologize,> Forlay said, not looking away from her work. <This is my fault. I have always said you would never be like Elfangor, yet I have let you follow in his every footstep. I should have known the second you came home with a title and rank, just like him…>

Aximili squinted at his mother. In his earliest memories, he had been compared to Elfangor. It had never occurred to Aximili that perhaps to be like Elfangor meant something different to their mother, who’d had to deal with the loss of him long before she’d had to deal with his death. No wonder Aximili had always been such a source of frustration to her.

<What should you have done, Mother?> he asked with morbid interest.

<I should have forbade you from joining the military. I should have had your father raise you in his homeland, with the nomads. And if you still insisted on playing soldier, I should have treated you like the other brainless idealists who think they can change things from the inside. This never would have happened if I had put you under constant surveillance like you deserved.>

Aximili’s blood felt like ice. Now the hands reaching into him without his permission weren’t a stranger’s, but his mother’s.

“Wrong answer,” Marco said, his voice oddly clear and coherent. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, wrapping the blanket around himself like a cocoon. He still looked exhausted, but he didn’t look groggy, like someone who’d just awakened from an unsatisfactory nap. Aximili wondered if he had been pretending to sleep all along or if he’d been awakened when his parents came in. “This is just a guess,” Marco continued, “but I think the answer Ax was looking for was ‘I should have respected you and your choices, communicated my concerns, and worked with you to improve security.’ Thanks for the pillows, by the way.”

Forlay turned to look at Marco with her main eyes. Then she looked back to Aximili, her expression unreadable, and said, <Perhaps.>

<What can we do for you now?> Noorlin asked. <Forlay and I think it would be best if the two of you remained here for a few days in case the intruder returns. After which point, Aximili, I will need your help to implement some security measures, at your discretion.>

<Thank you,> Aximili said. <Marco will need food and his medication tomorrow, but right now I think we both just need to rest.>

Aximili held a hand out to Marco. Marco took it, knowing that it was more gesture than anything, and pushed himself up with his other limbs. While Marco gathered up his bedding and pillows, Noorlin touched Aximili’s arm again. This time Aximili didn’t jerk away.

<We will keep you safe,> Noorlin said, smoothing the fur down on Aximili’s shoulder. Aximili forced himself to smile at his father. In reality, he didn’t feel reassured.

Aximili led Marco to the section of the scoop that was partitioned off by privacy walls. Aximili’s stalk eyes lingered on Elfangor’s room, remembering what Tobias had said about there being a proper bed in there. He opened his own room and stepped inside.

He rarely revisited his childhood room. It was a typical young Andalite’s space, with holographic privacy walls that could be turned on and off. Holoportraits of famous warriors, driftball players, and exhibition tail fighters cycled through on one side of the room, opposite a messy workstation.

There was a section of the scoop where Aximili had stacked relics from his time on Earth. He had stayed here briefly when he arrived back on homeworld the first time. Even with the items he had brought from his Earth scoop, this place felt foreign. Alien. It was an empty monument to a person who no longer existed. The same as the room next door.

Aximili was about to suggest they move to Elfangor’s room when he noticed Marco was standing at his workstation and had picked something up.

“I can’t believe you still have this, you dork,” Marco said, turning the framed photograph over in his hands, running his fingers over the back of the frame. He turned it back over and examined the picture of a cinnamon bun that Aximili had clipped from a magazine.

<It is my prized possession,> Aximili deadpanned. <My one true love.>

Marco snorted. “You open this a lot,” he said, indicating the wear on the pieces of cardboard that kept the back on the frame. “What is it, scratch and sniff?”

Mechanically, probably out of pent up anxiety and exhausted energy, Marco opened the back of the frame. A Polaroid fell out onto the ground. If Marco had opened the frame when they had still been on Earth, Aximili would have been mortified. Perhaps it was also anxiety and exhaustion, but Aximili couldn’t bring himself to care about it now.

Marco bent down and flipped the photo over in his hand. He pursed his lips and studied it. “When did you take this?”

<Shortly after we came back from the Iskoort homeworld,> Aximili said, joining Marco at his side to examine the photo.

It was, of course, a photograph of Marco. Aximili remembered taking it with the Polaroid camera Rachel had given him to tinker with, before he had destroyed it in an attempt to turn it into a security device. Marco had been in the middle of a debate with Tobias about whether Captain Sisko or Captain Janeway would win in a fight. His expression was sharp and excited; he was using his tactical mind for what it was meant to be used. Aximili knew Marco was equally in his element devising guerilla strikes as he was arguing, but only one of those things made Marco happy.

Marco examined the photo for a moment more before replacing it and setting the frame back down. He kicked his pillows toward the open space in the center of the floor. “C’mere,” he said as he sat unceremoniously on the ground. With a series of wiggles and grunts, he settled into an acceptable sleeping position.

<I don’t think I will be able to sleep,> Aximili answered, his tail blade flicking restlessly behind him.

“C’m _ere_ ,” Marco whined, flopping his head back dramatically against his pillows.

Aximili sighed. <We are at my parents’ home,> he protested. <It is dishonorable to lie on the ground.>

“Get the _fuck_ over here,” Marco demanded, his voice dropping into a tired version of his taking-no-shit tone. Aximili complied. He folded his legs underneath himself and allowed Marco to scoot closer until he was clinging to Aximili’s side. “It’ll be okay,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

<No, it won’t,> Aximili said quietly. He received no answer.

* * *

_It is worse than being a Controller. Aximili has been a Controller. Only briefly, but he knows. When you are a Controller, if the Yeerk can see and hear and feel, you can see and hear and feel. You can still sleep. You can still dream. You can still scream and cry and fight back. Aximili never thought that there was mercy in being enslaved by the Yeerks. Now he knows._

_If being a Controller is being imprisoned, being in the thrall of the One is solitary confinement. It is worse. You cannot see, unless the One wants you to see. You cannot move--you cannot even tell you are moving unless the One allows it. As far as Aximili can tell, his body no longer needs food or rest. He does not sleep. There is no respite. He has only his thoughts, and the longer he is alone with himself, the more dark and desperate his thoughts become. He is certain that the One can hear him. It does not respond, even to taunt him. It is worse than a Yeerk._

_He begs for death. The ultimate dishonor._

_He had been prepared for an honorable death since he was a small child. He could not have prepared for this._

_Even in his bleakest hours, Aximili had never believed that death would be preferable. He had watched the crew of the_ GalaxyTree _perish while he was a helpless child in a falling Dome. He had been trapped at the bottom of an ocean with only trees and alien sea creatures for company. He had been stranded, the only one of his kind, fighting a hopeless war. He had been abandoned and disabused by his people. He had watched his entire crew, the warriors whose lives he was responsible for, die at the hands of the One’s depraved cult. None of it felt as hopeless as this._

_He did not wish for death until he felt like he was already dead._

_And if this is not what death is like, it cannot be worse._

Aximili jerked awake, taking in a deep breath so suddenly that he made a gasping sound he didn’t even know his Andalite body was capable of making. His hearts were racing. His stalk eyes swept the room, but no one else was there. Aximili couldn’t remember the last time he had awakened without Marco next to him. He could, actually, but it had been the unnatural waking death of being host to the One.

Aximili rose shakily to his hooves and attempted to smooth his fur down with his blade. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to be with his parents. He didn’t want to be alone.

Aximili took a deep breath and came out into the main quarters. His mother was still at her workstation. She looked like she hadn’t moved since the night before. Marco was standing beside Aximili’s father, looking around his shoulder at a datapad Noorlin was holding.

Marco pointed. “So they got in by exploiting this flaw in the thought signature recognition protocols?”

<Yes,> Noorlin confirmed. He did not try to hide the impressed tone in his thought-speak. At least this time he didn’t say anything like “Aximili, your human is so intelligent for an alien.” <Aximili programmed his system to accept a five percent margin of error to entrance permissions. The intruder was able to use an engram modulator to brute force his way in.>

“And obviously that tech is only available to the military,” Marco surmised.

<One would have to be a very well-connected and adept civilian,> Noorlin said. <Of course, I could engineer such a device.>

“Of course,” Marco said. Aximili could not see his expression, but he could hear Marco’s eyes rolling. Aximili’s father was humble for an Andalite, but he had no reason to understate his skills. His mother did not keep Noorlin as her communications specialist out of affection.

Noorlin continued, <The signature of the forced entry suggests a mass-produced device. There is no question it was military hardware.>

“There was never any question,” Marco said darkly, crossing his arms.

<Aximili may not have the respect of his military associates, but they at least respect his blade,> Noorlin said, his thought-speak proud.

<Thank you, Father,> Aximili said, shaking his head. His father smiled at him. Aximili’s parents still did not always pick up on sarcasm.

“Morning, babe,” Marco said. He walked over and brushed the back of his knuckles down some fur that was sticking up on Aximili’s back. Aximili tensed, but neither of his parents reacted to the shameless display. “You look like hell.”

<And thank you, too,> Aximili deadpanned. Marco gave him a grin commonly referred to by humans as “shit-eating.” <We need to go home.>

Marco’s smile faded and he squinted sharply up at Aximili. “If you’re sure, yeah.”

Forlay turned toward Aximili. Her eyes, a mirror of his, were blue-rimmed. Aximili had been right that she hadn’t slept. His eyes only looked like that when he was exhausted or incredibly stressed. They probably looked like that now. <Stay,> she commanded, her thought-speak almost hypnotic in its intensity.

<We are going home,> Aximili said with finality. <Your scoop does not have what Marco needs.>

<If you are going for supplies,> Noorlin volunteered, <we will retrieve whatever you need from your scoop.>

Aximili touched his tail blade first to his father’s blade and then to his mother’s. The concern on their faces did not subside. <You do not know what he needs, and you do not know what I need. We will be careful. I will contact you when we arrive and verify the scoop is secure. Father, I will let you know when I want you to come help me with security.>

His parents exchanged a glance, but they did not try to convince him to stay. Forlay turned back to her work, resuming what appeared to be at least three separate encrypted conversations with her agents.

Noorlin stepped forward and placed a hand on Aximili’s cheek. <Run swiftly and safely,> he said.

<The wind will carry me home,> Aximili replied. <Morph, Marco.>

Marco made a noise with his nose and throat that indicated he did not want to comply, but he began morphing. When he was fully Andalite, they departed. They ran side-by-side to their scoop. Aximili felt the cold dread take hold inside him as they approached.

By the time they reached the scoop, Aximili’s hearts were pounding in his ears and his legs. He stood outside, staring at the entrance, for a full minute.

Finally, Marco took Aximili’s hand in his. <You’re not alone this time.>

Aximili squeezed his hand and nodded. He engaged the entrance and stepped down into their scoop.

Nothing was as they had left it. Everything had been touched, or worse, destroyed. The couch cushions had been slashed by a blade and were strewn about the scoop. The television had been thrown on the ground and shattered, the cords sliced up and pulled across the floor like black creeping vines. They had accessed Aximili’s workstation, copied what they wanted, and then corrupted it. The holo screen flickered with fatal error messages.

Aximili hadn’t even been into their sleeping quarters. It would be clear from what had been done in there whether Marco’s exposure was definite or just probable. How could he have been so stupid, so delusional as to think he could have Marco on homeworld? He could have nothing without it being taken away.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He was foolish to think he had been saved. Nothing was safe.

“Ax,” Marco said, and the sound of his human voice made Aximili crash back into reality. He felt Marco’s hand on his face and he saw his furrowed brows and dark, bloodshot eyes. Marco’s left hand joined his right on the other side of Aximili’s face.

Aximili drew in a long, shuddering breath. <Don’t tell me this will be okay,> he said.

“I won’t,” Marco said under his breath. His lips curled into a snarl. “I’m telling you, we’re gonna find who’s responsible for this--for _all_ of this. And we’re going to make them pay. Together.”

<Together.>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a big announcement on updates! This is the last chapter of Act 2! I've decided that I need to work on Act 3 all together to make sure everything works out, plot-wise, because things are about to get very complicated. There are about 15 chapters left and I'm thinking there will be a total of 50. My plan is to work them up to the final revision stage and start posting them weekly. Unfortunately, that means the next update isn't going to be for a while. If you have any questions, go on over to acavatica.tumblr.com. You can also see art and other fic there. I'm probably gonna be posting some short stuff to hold you guys over until this fic starts updating again. I hope that works for everyone! I appreciate you so so much for reading and sticking with me. Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my brilliant beta [LilacSolanum](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacSolanum/pseuds/LilacSolanum), who is the bright blue light at the end of this long, dark fanfiction tunnel. Thanks to all the readers, especially those who've left me kudos and comments. I love you almost as much as I love Animorphs.


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